#but against all odds they’ve managed it

[weskie]

A New Dawn (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

descriptions of injuries, descriptions of violence, tentacle murder, tentacle affection, yeah that's a thing, shared shower, wesker lives au | Fic Directory

You found him by sheer luck.

That rock he’d crawled onto could’ve simply crumbled.  The volatile lava could’ve risen higher and submerged him completely.  Despite the odds being stacked so incredibly high against any hope of recovering Wesker, you managed to pull his legs from the impossibly hot liquid with the help of a small rescue team and loaded his charred body into a helicopter for what was arguably the worst moment of your life.

All you can do is stare at what he’s become– at the autonomous slithering of tentacles that, by some miracle, contained themselves to their host and did not spread to your shaking hands.  His lower body is marred entirely with burns and blisters so severe that you’re unsure if taking him out of there was even humane.  If, perhaps, letting him be swallowed by the earth would’ve been kinder than putting him through whatever is to come next.

Once he’s placed in a containment room, you call in every favor you’ve ever known him to be owed.  But it’s all for nothing.

The first attempt to prick his skin with an IV catheter results in bloodshed.  The entire team of medics stood stock still as the head doctor was impaled and dangled overhead by a mass of black, oozing tentacles emerging from Wesker’s body.  It happened so fast that you only realized it once the blood hit the observation glass.

Such would be the result of any attempts to address his injuries.  Not even a blanket was able to be laid over his bare form without retaliation. It was like the mass of tendrils had a mind of their own, geared only toward protecting their host– though it raises the question of why the initial recovery of his body hadn’t produced the same response.  Regardless, you wager they’re the only reason that Wesker is still alive.

For that, you’re thankful.

You talk to him through the intercom regularly.  You tell him about the BSAA’s seizure of Tricell and its assets, of how you’ve turned one of his hidden facilities into something livable for when he wakes.  That you’ll be there when he does, and how excited you are for the day.  That you hope he can hear you but feel none of the pain.

You pray he doesn’t.

At the end of the first week, you come to the realization that the tendrils are slowly engulfing his body.  Every day, more seem to appear until his legs are cocooned.

You take notes and photos of everything as best as you can, just as you know he’d want you to.  After all, this is his creation in action. The seed for his perfect world that was now seemingly consuming yours whole.

By the fourth week, they’ve risen as high as his clavicle. 

By the fifth, you feel as if you’re losing your sanity.  Alone in a massive underground facility, having not seen the sun for weeks on end, eating only MREs and having what little sleep you get plagued by stress and worst case scenario nightmares… 

You crack.

“I don’t know how to make it better, Al…”  You whisper brokenly, forehead pressed to the glass. “I can’t– I don’t know how to help you.”

Any assistance you could have possibly had turned their backs the moment the danger far outweighed the payment– which had been the case from the very start.  Though you can’t find it in yourself to fault them.  If it wasn’t for the fact your heart was lying on that table, you’d have probably followed. The threat of death can be very convincing. 

When the tendrils creep onto his face, you break containment.  And why not?  Why shouldn’t you go in?  You helped make this mess.  You helped create the organism consuming him.  For years, you worked alongside him to perfect the cure to humanity’s wretches– to cull the species destroying this planet and dragging the rest down.

Perhaps you deserved the same fate for sharing in his endeavors– for even having goals so similar and selfish.  But was it really?  Was it so selfish to want better for humanity? 

You drag your swivel chair behind you as you tread over dried blood smears and dehydrated viscera. 

“You always did like making me do things the hard way,” you jest as you approach him.  But you’re not in there to take notes or vitals.

You set foot inside to relieve your madness.

Your hand quakes as it hovers above his forehead.  You’re unsure if you should even touch him due to the blistering and ripplings of infection marring his skin.  The burns have healed a tad since bringing him in, but not nearly as much as they should’ve.  Then again, it’s been weeks since he’s had a dose of suppressant to keep his strength balanced.

You lower the back of your hand toward his nose, relieved to feel the faintest tickling of air.

“Thank god,” you whisper tightly.  “I really miss you...”

Which was the honest truth.  You miss your mundane nights with him, sitting near as you both worked independently. Stacks of paper, the clicking of keyboards, endless hours in the laboratories spent refining mere dreams into reality.  You miss his cold affections and strange ways of expressing that he, too, had been infected with that parasite known as love.

You let your hand rest shakily over a section of his hair that hadn’t been burnt down to the scalp.  You hold your breath and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You are not added to the stains of violence on the walls, nor are you impaled in the blink of an eye.

But you are greeted with a much thinner tendril creeping up over his brow and forehead to inspect you.  It nudges your thumb and your whole body goes tense, veins chilling as if your blood had turned to ice.  It slithers over the bumps of your knuckles, leaving a thin layer of ooze over every inch of skin it touches as it trails to wrap around your wrist.  For a brief second, you’re petrified of it taking hold of you like that.  Would it try to bind with you?  What if it did to you what it had done to your precious Albert? What if it rejected you?

And if it did, how would you continue to try to help him? 

But it doesn’t.  It does nothing of the sort, just simply continues snaking up the length of your arm.  The tip rests atop your shoulder in a strangely… docile manner. You cease petting Wesker’s hair for but a moment to calm yourself, and then you feel it do something odd.

The head of the tendril lifts itself and plops back down on your shoulder, stroking backward little more than an inch before repeating the process.  You watch with wide eyes, both fascinated and terrified.

It’s mimicking you.

You pet Wesker’s hair once more and it ceases its movements.

You stop; it begins again.

Was Uroboros itself doing such an act?  Could it?

A flicker of hope flashes in your mind and tears prick at your eyes.  It’s so fucking unlikely– nearly impossible even.  And yet–

“Is that you?”  You ask softly, inching just a little closer to him.  You can see the way his eyes dart around beneath his eyelids– an entirely new development.  Was he dreaming? 

The tendril wraps the slightest bit tighter around your arm. 

“Can you hear me?”

The head of it lifts and falls against you once more.

It couldn’t be… but, at the same time, it had to be.   The tears you’ve fought against so hard fall and you grin from ear to ear.  All of that fear fades away, the desperation, the depression and hopelessness– it’s all gone.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his brow, suppressing your silent cries as you revel in the joy that your love is still in there.  This is no mere corpse kept alive by the resilience of a virus. The tendril wraps tighter the second your lips brush his skin, and you know in your heart that it’s how he’s able to reciprocate.

“We're going to figure this out,” you promise him. “I love you.”

Two weeks pass before his flesh starts to peek from between those slithering lengths.  You’d almost lost hope again.

It’s his lower body that starts to emerge first, bit by bit, starting from the feet up.  Flesh that was once marred an angry red, blistered and scorched beyond recognition, was now a scarred pink.  Amazingly, some patches seemed to have healed flawlessly, as if he’d never submerged in the fires of the earth to begin with.

Notes and photos.  Tests where possible.  Anything you could do to make sure Albert had every scrap of information possible about his otherworldly creation.  

Uroboros works.

Not only that, but it can bring its host back from the brink of death– if not perform a complete resurrection. 

Day by day, more of him is revealed until the pink line at his waist shows you just how deep he’d been submerged.  There are splatter patterns elsewhere, you notice.  Tiny specks of scarring from where lava had touched him long enough to burn through the dermal layers.

You decide to finally attempt to cover his body again.  A simple blanket, but hopefully one that’s warmth would not go unappreciated in the chill of the sterile room. 

When his hands are freed, you hold and press countless kisses to them.  You rest your cheek in his palm, telling him about your findings– that he’s almost healed and that you’re so goddamn excited.

“Uroboros is a success, my love.  You’re proof of it.”

The most fascinating of all, though, is the amber-like formation embedded in his chest.  From what you can tell, it is from this that the tentacles on his body are emerging.

You dare not touch it. Not yet, anyway.

Six days later, you find yourself kicking around in the barren kitchen of the complex.  There’s nothing but crumbs, and you’re miserable.  You haven’t left since arriving, and these compounds of his were never meant to be more than a brief hideaway.

You drag your feet as you make your way back to the bedroom.  Seems there’s little more to do than throw yourself in the shower to start your day, so you do exactly that.  Though not with any degree of enthusiasm.  Instead you sit on the ground and hug your knees, eyes shut as you ignore the complaints of your stomach.

You’ll have to find transportation to and from the nearest town– if there even was one.  It’d be lucky if you spoke the language or could even find the currency, but you’ll figure it out.  You have no choice.

In the absence of your awareness, coupled with the white noise of the shower, you fail to hear the door creak open.  Not even the disoriented shuffling against the tile floor rouses you.

Suddenly, the shower curtain is ripped open, and you startle– damn near knocking your head off the floor as you slip around like a fool.  But you clamber to your knees in an instant, arms flinging around the intruder who had fallen to your level.

You can’t help but weep.

“Al?!  Oh my god!” you exclaim through the tightness of your throat. Your hand strokes at the nape of his neck.  “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”

You should’ve been there when he woke up.  You should’ve fucking been there.

He shouldn’t have had to find you.

You move back and cup his face in your hands, pressing a smiling kiss to his lips despite the torrent of emotion rocking you to your core.  You pull away and find that he looks exhausted.  Completely and utterly drained.  His eyes are hooded, but the blue irises peeking out from under his lashes confirm that he is, in fact, exactly that. The formerly bright formation on his chest is dimmed nearly black.  All of his energy had gone into merely surviving.  Your poor, sweet love looked death in the eye for a second time and emerged victorious.

You help him get under the stream of water where you sit and hold him close.  You’ve never seen him like this before.  Vulnerable was an understatement.

He’s quieter than ever, staring straight ahead at the wall.  Shame, you surmise.  Humiliation.  He was defeated again– maybe even flat out killed.  His pride has always been its own Tower of Babel, built high enough to reach heaven and godhood.  But now it was truly shattered.  Crumbled to bits and buried in the sands of his failure.

There are no words to say.  Not yet, anyway.  He’s already heard them all.  Instead, there is shampoo to massage into his scalp and soap to trail over his body.  You may not be able to fix his pain, but you can wash away the remnants of volcanic ash and ooze tarnishing him.  The burden of grime is at least gone by the time the water runs cold.

You dry him with a towel, taking note of how his hands shake and how he balls them into fists to hide it.  You wonder if he still hurts, but you know he’d never admit to it even if he was truly in pain. Even wincing was out of the question, so you pretend not to hear it when he does.  You pretend like he doesn’t lean on you for support as you walk him to the bed, like he doesn’t need your help to lift his legs high enough to settle in.

He lets you hold him while he sleeps, something so out of the ordinary it leaves you blinking in confusion the second his head lays upon your chest.  Nevertheless, you do it anyway.  You pet through his hair, even occasionally running your fingertips over the healed sections of his scalp.  Normally he would stir if you so much as shifted, but he doesn’t even groan in his slumber.  

You hold him as though he's made of ceramic, basking in the tenderness of hope until your own eyelids grow heavy.  The world can wait.  Rebuilding can wait. Hell, even revenge can wait.  All that matters is this– is him. Your precious Albert, safe and very much alive in your arms, is more than you could ever ask for.

For the first time in weeks, your eyes flutter shut without fear of tomorrow.

[corvids-corner]

Peace love and joy on the planet earth ✌️ the group of 7 Least Terns that’ve been trying and failing to hatch chicks in a heavily predated area finally have two chicks they’ve managed to keep alive for about 8 days! 🥳🙌🌟

[kafkasmuses]

KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons. 

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader) 

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago. 

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you. 

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time. 

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.” 

ahem. 

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression. 

you blink at him, once, twice. 

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.” 

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him. 

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better. 

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“  

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint. 

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement. 

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach. 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything. 

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up. 

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.” 

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it. 

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first. 

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?” 

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.” 

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing. 

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.” 

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back. 

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.” 

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?” 

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him. 

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?” 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right? 

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.” 

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you. 

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind. 

“whatever helps,” you remark. 

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle. 

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.” 

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable. 

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?” 

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.” 

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.” 

“with tennis?” 

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.” 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you. 

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds. 

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really. 

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet. 

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors. 

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before. 

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually. 

“like your wife?” 

“like you.” 

art corrected you. 

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well. 

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe. 

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose. 

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty? 

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy. 

“what?” you frown, confused. 

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing. 

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple. 

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?” 

“what do you mean?” 

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“ 

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours. 

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..” 

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.” 

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now. 

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?” 

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you. 

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying. 

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.” 

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin. 

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.” 

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to. 

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath. 

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness. 

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?” 

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part. 

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.” 

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks. 

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him. 

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance. 

“ready?” he hushes out. 

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already. 

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more. 

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well. 

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas. 

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches. 

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm. 

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.” 

[solarmorrigan]

Hello there! I’m not entirely sure if you’re still doing the whole angsty-ish prompt thing, but if you are could please consider doing, “Shit, are you bleeding!?”, with steddie and Steve being the one bleeding?

Maybe Steve never actually took care of his bat wounds and they reopened or smth??

If not then that’s totally fine! Feel free to ignore :)

THIS IS VERY LATE, I'M SORRY. I know you sent this request months ago, and believe it or not, I didn't forget about it! It haunted me. (Not really, but I did keep it in mind, and I finally managed to get a little thing out for it! I hope this is a little like what you had in mind?)

[CW: blood, mentions of injury]

-

They’ve done it.

They’ve actually fucking done it.

They pulled off the whole stupid plan, no one is dead (except for Vecna), they’re right-side up, the gate has resealed itself – it’s over.

They won.

And now, there’s just one thing left to do.

Nothing official, really, just something Eddie had promised himself he would do if he actually managed to survive (odds hadn’t seemed to be in his favor at the time, so he hadn’t expected to have to follow through, but he’d also promised himself there would be no more running away). In a way, he’d promised Steve, too, so he thinks he’d better deliver.

(At least, he hopes that’s what he’d communicated to Steve; he hopes that’s what that meaningful look and that significant nod that passed between them had meant and that he’s not about to get his ass kicked after surviving the siege of a bat tornado in a mirror version of his trailer in a fucked up alternate dimension.)

Eddie gives Dustin one last affectionate pat on the back, skirts around where Robin is babbling something enthusiastically at Nancy, who looks a little too shellshocked to do much more than listen with an almost disbelieving smile, and makes it over to where Steve is standing by the front door. He’s got his back to the group, hunched over a little as he fiddles with something beneath his unzipped jacket, but he perks up the moment he hears Eddie’s voice.

“Steve,” Eddie calls, more quietly than the last time, but with no less gravity, and just like last time, Steve turns back, his gaze falling heavily on Eddie.

Before he can talk himself out of it, and horribly aware that this isn’t really the best time or place (but then again, if not here, then where? If not now, when?), Eddie steps closer, steps right into Steve’s space, cups one hand to his ash-smudged cheek, and leans in to kiss him.

He barely even has a moment to wonder if he’s made a monumental mistake before Steve is kissing him back, tilting his head and pressing closer and moving his lips against Eddie’s like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. If the rest of the trailer has fallen conspicuously silent, Eddie doesn’t notice.

The kiss doesn’t last long (not as long as Eddie would like), but that’s alright; it feels like there will probably be more.

“Wanted to do that earlier,” Eddie murmurs as they pull apart. “But I didn’t want you to think it was some kind of last-ditch wish fulfillment because I thought I was going to die. Figured now would be better.”

“Now is good,” Steve says softly; his eyes are a little hazy, a little unfocused (and damn, had Eddie done that?), but they find Eddie’s without trouble. "Now is great."

And then it’s Steve’s hands on Eddie’s face, curled carefully at the edges of his jaw, drawing him in for another kiss. It’s only the feeling of something wet sliding across Eddie’s skin that distracts him and makes him pull back. Steve’s hands fall away, and Eddie reaches up to swipe over his jaw and looks down at his hand.

His heart thumps when he sees red.

“Am I–?” He reaches up again, rubbing his fingers across his skin again, but he feels no pain, finds no injury. “Are you–?” Eddie looks now at Steve’s hand, heart jumping again when he sees more of the same smeared across Steve’s fingers. “Shit, are you bleeding?”

Steve frowns, reaching up with his clean hand to try to swipe the mess away with his thumb. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but he sounds distant now, a little breathless in a way that Eddie can’t blame on any kiss.

Eddie reaches out and spreads his hands under Steve’s jacket, pushing it open to get a good look at him, and finds the damning dark spots spreading across the fabric of the t-shirt underneath.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. “Shit, shit, Steve–”

“Might’ve pulled something,” Steve murmurs, “fighting Vecna.”

“You think?” Eddie is aware that he’s getting a bit shrill, but he thinks that he really can’t be blamed. “Wheeler!”

Nancy is there in an instant, and Robin is at Steve’s side just as he starts to wobble. She gets an arm around his back and he hisses, reminding them all that the bat bites on his sides aren’t the only wounds he’d sustained.

And then Nancy is barking instructions, and Robin is talking, quiet and rapid-fire at Steve as they sit him down on the couch, and Dustin is demanding to know what’s wrong (and if Eddie thought he’d been getting shrill–), and Eddie only manages to get him out of the vicinity by telling him to go call an ambulance.

“He’s gonna be fine, Henderson, but we need help,” Eddie says firmly, giving him a shove in the direction of the phone. “We’ve got him, he’ll be fine.”

And Eddie hopes to God, to Satan, to who-the-fuck-ever it is he’s supposed to be praying to at this point, that he isn’t lying to the kid.

He’s just gotten Steve – he can’t lose him now.

[onsomenewsht]

now playing: Too Well

< track 5 || track 7 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader, Barcelona Femeni x Reader, Arsenal Women x Reader

》 words count: ~5k

》 you weren't there in my dreams, I could finally sleep / I felt good, but it sucks, I don't hate you as much

You hear the whistle before you feel the pain in your lower back.

It’s been going on like this since the very start of the game, your former teammates are on you like it’s personal, not giving you space to move or time to play.

But you know them, you played with them. It’s not personal.

At least you hope so.

You’re pretty sure they’re playing this rough because they’re scared of you. Of the way you’re keeping up with them, of the way you’re not going down easily.

It’s exciting, it’s exactly what you wanted.

This one foul feels a little bit unnecessary though.

It’s a tactical foul, you manage to find a weak spot on the side of Barcelona’s midfield and you go for it even if the ball sent to you is a bit too fast. Mapi’s body crushes into yours firmly, not enough to cause any real harm but definitely strong enough to hint you to take a breath on the ground.

“Perdón, tenía que hacerlo” (Sorry, I had to), a tattooed hand comes into your vision and the second thing you spot is the smirk on the defender’s face.

You accept her help, smirking too.

“You didn’t have to, that ball was way too long”

“Oye, sabes que no es por eso” (Yeah, you know it wasn’t about the game), María’s grin turns into a sincere smile as she moves back into her position, adding “Estamos a mano ahora” (We can call it even now).

The referee is making sure everything is settled, trying to keep control of the players, but you dismiss her and let Katie take the ball for a kick into the Barça’s box.

It’s an exciting game, it’s good football. That’s what you wanted for your first game back in Barcelona, your first game at Camp Nou as a rival. The crowd is wild and the atmosphere is all you could wish for from a Champions League match as important as the first leg of a quarter-final.

“You good?”, Leah asks while joining the fun into the box.

You are all waiting for Katie to stop discussing whatever she’s discussing with the referee just to give your teammates time to find their positions.

“Get that ball in and I’ll be amazing”

Arsenal does not manage to get the ball into the back of the net and you still have ten minutes before halftime to level the score.

It’s not fair game on paper, the odds are against you and some headlines must already be written. Barcelona’s movements on the pitch are faster and cleaner, sometimes the crowd is so loud you can’t even hear your own thoughts. They scored five minutes into and they’ve been setting the pace since.

But you’re standing up to the current Champions League’s winner.

Arsenal’s defence line is keeping up, the ball is rolling and you’re finding your forwards. You can score, you just have to play the right pass for your teammates.

On the other hand, Keira is personally marking you and another Barca’s player is always around to intercept your pass and prevent your movement. It’s frustrating, they know how you like to play, but it’s also flattering.

They have a mark on you, you just need to remember it’s acknowledgement you can cause trouble and not spite.

~

A couple of players booked for both sides is how the game gets into halftime.

You take your time to reach the tunnel, speaking animatedly with Victoria and Lia, gesturing around with your hands to explain some other tactics you can try. The atmosphere is unreal, you can’t deny all the overwhelming emotions of being back.

The fact you don’t want to risk ending up in Alexia’s line of sight has nothing to do with it.

Leah really jinxed it back then, the Champions League’s draw put your new club against your former one sooner than what you hoped for. However, you got here, you’re once again among the best in the game and it’s all you wanted.

Having to play against your ex girlfriend is just a small detail.

You’re still following her, you’re still updated about her life – her professional one, obviously. If you find yourself watching her game’s highlights or listening to her interviews, you tell yourself it’s just what you do to study your competition.

The truth is you want to make sure she’s doing good. On the pitch at least.

Alexia’s knee is bothering her again and you were so close to calling her when you read about her having to do checkups and potentially miss some important games. Like this one. No one has to know you texted Ingrid instead, just to make sure it’s not actually worse than the media is making it to be.

“Head in the game, trotter”

The Gunners have gathered around in the locker room, waiting for your captains to deliver some motivational speech to get back out there with a renewed spirit.

“Why are you all looking at me?”

“Give some shit, you idiot!”, Katie is upset and already carded, she better finds some inner peace before the second half.

“Kim, you amazing captain, say something”

“She’s right, you have the insight”

The Scottish skipper is looking at you with a calm smile and your manager is trusting her captains enough to let them deal with this by themself. The entire staff is looking at you like you have the answers to all the universe’s most important questions.

“I already spilled everything, you know I want to win this as much as every one of you”

“That was theoretical, now you had time on the pitch with them as a rival”

You had to think for a moment, taking your time to fix your socks and lacing your boots three times. Stupid superstitions you don’t believe in, but you are not going to risk it today of all days. The team needs to calm their running minds and you need to gather your thoughts.

When it seems like you have nothing worth saying, you take their faces in. You want to win as much as they want to, that’s true, but you also have a lot more to prove.

“They’re frustrated”

“They’re just pissed you broke up with the Catalan divinity”, a quip that worthed Katie a punch from Alessia.

“First of all, she’s la Reina”

Some of the girls laugh, others are just glad you can joke about it, but they’re all waiting for your useful words. There’s a game to win.

“They didn’t expect us to keep up with them, they thought more goals could have easily followed the first one. They’re keeping a high pace waiting for us to trudge backwards, and that’s not what we’re going to do”

“No way, Sherlock!”

Now it’s Caitlin who smacks the Irish’ head, she’s having it worse than you.

“We keep doing what we’re doing”, Kim steps in.

The preparation for this game was intense, the Arsenal team studied Barça for weeks and you know what to expect from them – thanks to your insight, but also thanks to the amount of effort the entire staff and team put into the training sessions.

“I know them, I’m gonna keep annoying the shit out of them and get us some good opportunities”

“You want to play bait?”, Leah is sceptical about your plan.

“Yes”

“No”

“Can work, they have reasons to want to foul her a bit more”, you’re not sure which side Laia’s on.

“Putting her in unnecessary danger, what a great idea to add a name to our injury report!”

“Let’s do it”, your manager interrupts the banter, looking at his watch, “Pass the ball to her whenever she’s free and let her go for the runs when she can”

You know the Barça’s girls, you know how they like to play.

That’s how you find a line of pass for your teammates, or you manage to slip around the Blaugrana’s kits, or even attempt a shot from just outside the box. You can tell they’re annoyed. And you know you can use their annoyance and arrogance against them.

“Let’s put a mark on her”, Leah definitely doesn’t like your plan.

“She already has, let turn it to our advantage”

“I’m here and I’m fine with it”

~

The second half starts and it gets more physical rather quickly, with both sides looking for a goal. Your teammates move better on the field when the opponents are busy double marking you or making sure you can’t keep or pass the ball.

You take the pressure well, hit after hit.

Until warm-up players distract you, Alexia is running on the sideline and you don’t see Ona’s tackle coming.

It’s a clean tackle, perfectly timed, but you missed a bit. You should have jumped her over or moved your foot away. Instead, your boot is planted on the side of the ball and you crush on the defender’s body before hitting the ground. Hard.

You don’t even hear the whistle this time.

“¡Ay! You okay?”

“Stay away!”

“Leah, calm down”, Alessia has to drag the blonde away from the little circle formed around you.

Your body is curled up on one side, face hidden behind your arms. You can feel the fresh grass of the pitch tickling your neck and the rushed movements close to you.

It takes you a couple of moments to understand the medical team is trying to get your attention, testing you worried about a concussion. Apparently, you hit your head falling down. Once asserted, and once assured both Ona and your teammates you’re fine, you are escorted to the sideline while the game resumes.

Alexia’s eyes are on you.

You always had a feeling of her presence and you were always able to find her wherever she was around you. It doesn’t matter the place, it doesn't matter how many people crowded it. If she had her eyes on you, you knew.

You smile at the realisation you can still sense it.

“How do you feel?”, the medic asks you.

“Like I just hit my head”

“Funny as always”

“Are you being sarcastic, Alice?”

“Glad you didn’t hit it hard enough to get some wisdom”, the woman is not amused by your attempt to dismiss the situation.

They’re holding you up and you’re quite happy they don’t let go when you ask, your legs failing to support you like they are supposed to.

Immediately looking back toward the pitch, you assert the situation. Barça is taking the most of the extra player, pressing higher and controlling the midfield easily. You can’t put your team at a disadvantage, not by wasting time on the side but not by coming back into the game with unsteady legs either.

You gave it all.

“Ask for a sub, Ali, please”

“You okay?”

“Yeah”

It’s ironic how both teams opt to make substitutions at the same time, it’s ironic how Alexia enters on the pitch as you make your exit from the other side.

The Culés crowd is screaming and applauding for their captain, but you like to hope they are also cheering for you as you walk your way towards the bench.

You sit impatiently, getting up every couple of minutes to shout directions to your teammates and to encourage them. Even after Aitana splits around your defence and plays an incredible ball that just needs to be chipped into the net.

~

The final whistle is both a blessing and a curse.

You join the circle of white kits gathered in the middle of the pitch, exchanging congratulations or supporting pats for every player you meet on your way there. You don’t really listen to your manager’s or Kim’s speeches, always blacking out every rational thought after a match despite the result.

The group disbands soon, tomorrow you will study every single moment of this game to better prepare for the second leg. It’s not done, but it’s over for now.

You encourage some of the younger girls to enjoy the atmosphere in the stadium, not everyone has the opportunity to play in such places and they should take the most in. There are fans to thank for their support too, never stopped cheering for you all.

“¿A dónde crees que vas?” (Where are you going?)

Mapi jumps on your back like you haven’t left the pitch on trampling legs just twenty minutes before.

“Let me lick my wounds in peace, Marìa”, no real spite in your words.

“Lo mereces, nena” (You deserved it)

“I wasn’t hoping for a welcoming party, but you all sure made the statement clear”

“Estás bien, ¿verdad?” (You’re good, right?)

“I’ll survive”

“You better, there’s still the return”, Ingrid must sense her girlfriend is about to say something stupid as she greets you in a warm hug.

The two of them are the only ones of your former teammates you met in person since your transfer, besides Keira who you cross paths with thanks to your mutual blonde friend. You’re glad they can act as a buffer as you find yourself back here.

Said English girls join the little group, animatedly discussing as Leah’s frown gets deeper. You know she’s upset about the result, but this something else entirely.

“Why is her face like that?”, you ask.

“She wants to swipe with the traitor and not with her best-est friend!”

“¡Vale, I was about to ask my favourite teammate ever!”

Keira and you make an all scene exchanging your tops but you cover yourself with an Arsenal warming vest, not really ready to wear the Blaugrana colours again. The Alexia’s one you sometimes happen to fall asleep wearing is another thing entirely, you’re not going to unpack that right here and right now.

Leah’s pissed look and Mapi’s glare about your antics are a good distraction.

Ona reaches out to you to apologise again, but you are quick to pull her in a friendly hug and reassure her that her tackle was clean – contrary to another defender, you joke.

“¡Muy bien, nena, tú lo pediste!” (Fine, you asked for it!), the Spaniard grabs your arm and literally drags you toward the family and friends section of the stadium.

You’re pretty sure you’re about to have a stroke when you realise her intention.

You meet a few of your former teammates on your way to the stands. You accept Irene’s embrace happily, also glad to delay the time of your execution. Jana’ and Claudia’ are a little shorter than what you wished for. Their smiles are sincere and their nice words are honest, you understand and you know it’s even more than what you deserve.

“¿Pensabas de irte sin saludar?” (You thought you could leave without saying goodbye?), Eli doesn’t give you time to answer as she welcomes you in her open arms, holding so tightly you have to hold back tears.

You don’t let her go and she understands you need a moment to compose yourself, hidden in her embrace, and she lets you be. The woman’s the closest to a mother figure for you during your time in Spain, mothers know better.

“You look awful”

“You always were the better looking one, Alba”, you quip back as you let the younger girl join the hug.

“¿Estás bien, mija?” (How are you?)

“Como alguien que perdìo un partido de Champions League, señora S” (As someone who has just lost a Champions League’s game)

“¡Ay! Aún tan formal” (Still with the title)

Alexia’s family welcomed you as a born and raised member of their clan, always trying to make your homesickness less difficult and succeeding at making you feel loved. Yet, you insisted on calling her mother with all the formalities, first out of respect and then just as a running joke between the two of you.

“We’re going out to eat something, you’re coming”

“Nope”, you can’t think of anything worse than sitting and trying to have fun with your ex girlfriend’s little sister and some of your closest friends – who also happen to be your ex’s best friends, your former teammates and the ones that just beat your club and your ass.

“Keira already spilled you guys are free tonight”

Damn Keira.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea”

“Te extrañamos, nena” (We missed you)

You missed them too, truly.

Nevertheless, you have to process all your feelings about being here, being back in Barcelona.

The familiar road to the stadium somehow looked like taking you to a completely different destination. The hectic tunnel somehow crushing on you, the exciting atmosphere somehow making you sick. The Culés crowd is a completely different experience when they’re not cheering for you.

“I just want to sulk in a bit by myself”

Marìa knows you, she doesn’t press on the matter even if you can tell she wants nothing more than to spend more time with you and your friends. Her arm around your shoulder is comforting as you say your goodbyes to Eli and Alba, promising them not to disappear again.

You’re keeping your promise this time.

“¿Estás segura?” (Are you sure?)

You two finally reach a more private part of the tunnel’s exit, stepping a couple of times on the way there to wave at the fans. At least they don’t seem to hate you.

The hug you envelop each other in is the longest and most comforting one you ever exchanged, holding more than what words can tell and actions can convey. You let Mapi go just after spotting a blonde head waiting for you around the corner.

“Yeah, I’m gonna crush your dreams next time we see each other”

“¡Vale, pero mándame un mensaje antes!” (Yeah, but you better text before then)

The defender takes the opposite direction as Leah drops her arms around your shoulders from behind, effectively dragging you into the locker room.

“You good?”

“If someone else asks me again I’m gonna scream till you have to call the Neuro on me”

“Perfect, you can shower then, you stink”

The girls aren’t as loud as they usually are as you just lost a pretty important game and some are gonna sleep really bad thinking about missed opportunities or defence mistakes. You, first of all, know you’re not gonna sleep at all tonight.

When you’re ready to go, you leave the stadium for the parking lot.

“Are you going back to the hotel?”

Leah is probably hoping you decide to join her, Lia and a couple of the girls at the eating place Mapi mentioned before. You honestly would love to spend a quiet night out with your friends, both from your past and present, but you’re pretty sure Alexia’s gonna be there.

She managed to avoid you until now, you don’t want to ruin her night.

“There’s a place I want to go to”

~

Half an hour drive away from Camp Nou there’s a little secluded beach, rocky shore all the way down to the sea and just a couple of metres of sand in between.

Alexia insisted on bringing you there one day, unprompted and without a real reason to make such a trip in the middle of the week. The location is far away from any tourist spots but close enough to be a place to go when you need to think, surrendered by everything and nothing at the same time.

The Catalan ended up there the first time when she was barely old enough to drive herself around, coming back any time she needed to silence her mind and allowing herself to focus only on the unbothered nature.

You two used to go there together to just exist in the same place at the same time without needing anything else.

However, you got the habit of going there by yourself when you felt overwhelmed and in your last months in Barcelona you feel like you spent more time looking at the sea from that particular spot than in your own home.

The taxi’s drive there is quiet in the most awkward way possible, the old man asking way too many questions for your liking, but when you feel steps approaching you have no doubt who is joining you.

“I can leave, it’s your spot after all”, you gave yourself permission to come also secretly hoping to find her here.

“Tenía una sensación” (No need, I had a feeling)

When she refuses to join the little night out, much to her teammates’ disappointment, the English girls are way too fast to assure her you declined the invite and Mapi even encourages her with a silent but meaningful nod.

She drops on the ground keeping some needed distance from you, crossing her legs and holding herself on the sweater she’s wearing.

“I thought you were ignoring me”

“Ajá, intenté pero mamá me regañó” (Yeah, I was but mom scolded me)

You finally really look at her for the first time in nine months, allowing yourself to take in every single detail you memorised that last day to make sure her eyes still brighten the same way and the creases around her mouth still move in the same spots.

How can she be the same person and a completely different one at the same time?

The older girl is not looking at you, her gaze fixed on the landscape as she tries to regulate her heartbeat while shaking every time a gentle blow of wind urges you both to breathe some air in.

“You’re a brunette now”

Alexia’s laugh is something you had no idea you could miss so deeply until it reaches you open and at full speed, almost knocking you down physically as much emotionally.

When she finally looks at you, oh, you are so fucked.

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore is not enough to cover the silence that surrounds you again, you’re sure she’s here to kill you slowly without having to use words or weapons. She just needs to remind you what you left behind, who you lost.

“Lo siento” (I’m sorry)

“I– what? No, no, you don’t need to–”

“Te conozco” (I know you)

The Catalan has an all speech planned, rehearsed all the way here just to make sure she can say everything she needs to say in the best way she can.

“Lo siento, te conozco y yo– I knew you weren’t in love anymore y I didn’t do anything”

“I never stopped loving you, Alexia”, you have to make sure she understands it was never about her.

“Lo sé” (I know)

A warm hand leaves the hiding spot in the pocket of her sweater to land in the space between you. It’s not an invitation, you are not stupid enough to hope that, but it’s an open gesture. You believe she even smiles, but you’re probably delusional and actually concussed.

“I was there, I saw you fall in love with the club y with the city y conmigo”, she starts, fixing her gaze back to the waves, “I was there and I saw you fall out of love too”

“Alexia, I–”

“Por favor déjame terminar, you left without a word and I have words to say now” (Let me finish, please)

When it was time for you to leave Barcelona, she was the one taking you to the airport. She insisted, she was adamant about it.

You broke up with her with a transfer request and a shiny contract signed with a club in a different country, and she didn’t try to change your mind.

You packed your life in Barcelona and your life together in a couple of boxes, shipped them to an apartment you didn’t even visit yourself beforehand, and she went to her mother for a week just to give you the space to do that.

You said your goodbyes to your teammates at the end of a particularly hard gym session, no game left to play and a recovery plan already sent in by the trainers, and she watched over you a couple of steps back even if all she wanted was to join the group hug.

However, when you wanted to take a taxi to the airport, she was determined to drive you herself. The radio mocking you all the way there, playing your song as soon as she started the car up. You didn’t dare to turn it off, but you wished she had.

Alexia didn’t say a word, she parked the car and helped with your luggage, following you inside till just bureaucracy and security checks stopped her. Not a single word, not a single tear. You had red eyes and shaking hands, your ex girlfriend nodded to you and let you leave like that.

“You fell in love with Barcelona and playing for Barça and I thought that was enough for you just because it’s everything to me”

“You are–”

“No, por favor” (Please, don’t do that)

You’re not sure if she’s asking you to let her apologise or if she wants to stop you from saying something that could most definitely just hurt the two of you more.

“I’m sorry, I knew you didn’t feel at home anymore and I just hoped your love for me was enough to make you stay”

“It was”

It takes everything in you not to reach her, brushing away the tears that are marking her cheeks.

“Ay, but that’s why you ask for the transfer, no?”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, you left a place that was not your home”

“I don’t even know where my home is”, you’re not sure if there’s a place for you to call home in the first place. Maybe you’re just not made to feel at home.

“Es aquí” (It’s here)

You register her coming closer just when she has a finger pointing in the middle of your chest, eyes soft as she looks right through your heavy breaths and broken soul.

“Tu casa es tu corazón y cuando tu corazón no se siente en casa, te vas” (Your home is where your heart is and when your heart doesn’t feel at home anymore, you leave)

“I should have explained, I should have tried harder”

“I knew”

“Alexia–”

“No importa, I didn’t understand it, but it’s okay”, she’s the one reaching for you, gently touching your face as she’s scared you’re gonna break in a million pieces if she speaks too loud or brushes her fingers too roughly on your cheeks.

“Mi casa está aquí, mi familia está aquí y mi futuro está aquí, juego en mi equipo favorito y estoy dónde está mi corazón. Soy afortunada, tú no tienes la misma suerte. Intentaste explicarlo y nunca te escuché, y luego fuiste” (My home is here, my family is here and my future is here. I play for my childhood club and I’m exactly where my heart is. I’m lucky, you don’t have the same luck. You tried to explain it so many times but I never listened. And then you left)

“Te juro, dejar Barcelona fue la única manera” (I swear, leaving Barcelona was the only way)

“Lo sé, me sentí como una parte de mí dejé contigo” (I know, I felt like a part of me left with you), she takes a moment and you can see in her eyes that she spent a lot of time thinking about this, “I feel like I was missing a piece that let me breathe properly and kick a football the right way or winning successfully and sleeping peacefully”

“I’m sorry I had to leave”

“You never left, not really”

Alexia’s voice is shaking now, for the first time since sitting next to you and letting you understand you can forgive yourself for hurting her. She did.

“No estabas aquí, pero nunca te dejaste” (You were not here, but you never left), she laughs before explaining herself, “You’re in the cafeteria you were a regular at and I can’t let myself go anymore, you’re in the dating shows I avoid to watch. You’re in the songs you say you hate but you sing so bad while you cook”

You can’t hold her gaze when she says the last part, “You’re in the footballs left behind after training”.

“You knew”

“Nunca siento que no estás aquí, a veces lo odio a veces me ayuda” (I never feel like you are not here, sometimes I hate it and sometimes I hold on into it)

“Yo también te extraño” (I missed you too)

Her laugh is still your favourite sound in the entire world.

~

When the sun disappears under the waves, the Catalan offers to take you back to your hotel.

Alexia’s driving always manages to calm your nerves, you don’t miss the fact she is taking the longest road and she has the windows rolled down even if she hates it.

You’re exhausted, drained both physically and mentally. Somehow, though, your chest doesn’t feel so heavy and your lungs actually fill with fresh air, your mind doesn’t feel so crowded and your thoughts actually unravel rationally.

The last time you were in a car with Alexia it felt like the two of you were going to bury a piece of yourself down the heart of the earth, this time you are going to bring it flowers. This time, when a familiar song starts to play, you find the courage to turn it off.

“Thank you”

“Por no odiarte?” (For not hating you?), she quips, not taking her eyes away from the still very familiar road.

“Thank you for understanding”

“Hiciste lo que debías hacer” (You did what you had to do)

Alexia stops the car in the private parking lot of the hotel your team is staying in, you don’t need to check the time to know you should head back soon.

You say your goodbyes, knowing you will see each other in ten days and it’s probably going to hurt as much even if in a completely different way.

She doesn’t accompany you to the hotel’s entrance, but, unlike the last time, you turn around when you hear her calling out your name.

“I hope you found what you left for”

[sfznyxio]

❝ 𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑 ❞

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. codename “cipher”, you’re an enigmatic assassin who has a perfect track record of leaving no trace behind. until your current target is actually bait to lure you in by jade of the ten stonehearts, elite spies of the international peace corporation. now they can’t let you go, not when they’ve finally caught the inconvenience of their missions. and so you’re forced to cooperate to prevent the destruction of the nation.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. aventurine, dr. ratio, topaz

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. gn!reader. spy au, assassin au. 1.0k words. inspired by the the “assault squad” fanart of the ipc trio by @/625light on twt and spy x family. jade is referred to as “that jade woman”. diamond and opal are briefly mentioned (dr. ratio and topaz). gambling (aventurine). assassins execute each other if ever there’s a traitor among them (dr. ratio). there are drunk lower-ranked spies who size reader up (topaz). natural disasters (dr. ratio and topaz).

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀. whoa, a new fic a week later? what a surprise. i kinda cooked with all these parts, especially aventurine's. enjoy your meal.

𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄.

the golden hour is a club popular among gamblers. you wonder why that jade woman chose this place specifically for you to go; she doesn’t seem to be the high stakes, high rewards type of person. once you’re settled at the bar, a flamboyant man who seems to be a regular tells the bartender to put your order in his tab. he then invites you to play poker as his way of welcoming the newcomer.

“oh? looks like my new friend here is quite the experienced player,” the man comments when you two make it to the final round. your previous assignment was at a casino, so you learned about the game in order to reach your target. the spectators are anxiously anticipating to see who will be the winner.

perfect. the aces in your hand and on the table are keys to your victory. the man thinks otherwise by betting all his chips. the spectators roar, resounding your disbelief. when it’s time to unveil your cards, a smirk spreads across his face. you’ve been beaten by the odds.

“royal flush,” he drawls, picking up his ace. “when your opponent has an ace up their sleeve, find the opportunity to use it against them. that, my friend, is why you’re here today. you’re welcome, by the way, for sparing your life. think of it as gratitude for being merciful to our men.”  

“… stoneheart.” he smiles at your conclusion. this man is responsible for fooling you twice with your own cards. convinced that your methods do safeguard your identity, he manages to pinpoint specks of traces left on pieces of evidence and use them to his advantage. so he’s been tracking you down for a long time. “impressive. it appears i was careless enough to get caught. to whom am i speaking with?”

the ace on his hand disappears with a wave, and then reappears in your pocket when he gestures to your clothes, having you pull it out. “name’s aventurine. pleasure to make your acquaintance, friend. now, why don’t go somewhere quieter. i’ll answer all the questions you may have.”

𝐃𝐑. 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎.

an interrogation room is the last place you want to be in, let alone pier point the headquarters of the international peace corporation. that jade woman has arranged a meeting between you and “someone who is good with words” - according to a certain gambler. you expect it to be their spymaster, however the person sitting across from you is anything but.

“uh… are you supposed to be spymaster diamond?” jade mentions that diamond thinks you’re interesting enough for him to meet you, but his schedules are keeping him occupied. based on that logic, you’re pretty sure that the person in front of you is not him. because, who wears an alabaster head outside?

“even if i am, that should be the least of your worries.” right, you and the stonehearts need answers from each other. time is of the essence; other assassins may be sent to kill you for betrayal if you don’t make use of it wisely. if only that man would take the alabaster head off; it’s unsettling.

“you’re eager to know who i am.” as if he has read your mind, he puts his hands on the alabaster head. “because that damned gambler managed to expose you, i may as well do the same to myself out of fairness. should my identity satiate your curiosity and have you confess, by all means.”

your eyes widen at his features. wavy violet hair, amber eyes, and a gold headpiece. he was your previous target - the exact reason why you’re in this room, veritas ratio, the handler of the stonehearts. when you think you had him fall into your trap, he has you fall into his instead. you’re at a loss of words. 

“we meet again, assassin.” he lays out files that immediately pique your interest: the  incident that robbed you of your childhood and made you into the person you are today. “judging from your expression, you’re in the know of the stellaron crisis. we have much to discuss, don’t we?” 

𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐀𝐙.

the reverie hotel is too fancy to be a prison. that jade woman reserves a room for you and covers service costs so you don’t need to worry about payment. the stonehearts are treating you awfully well as if you’re their guest, only if you have useful information in return. their subordinates on the other hand, they’re trying way too hard to intimidate you to the point you’ll spill your secrets.

“hey! what did i say about drinking during work hours?” a woman with short hair storms into the hallway where your room is with more agents behind her. “take them back to their rooms. i’ll meet with them later on how to not treat a person who was invited by jade. i sure hope they don’t want this to be included in my reports.”

she dismisses her squad with the drunk guys in tow and looks at you for permission to enter your room, which you soon grant. she settles on one of the chairs, gesturing to you to sit next to her. “nice to finally meet the elusive cipher. i’m topaz; jade sent me here to keep you company on her behalf. luckily it’s not opal, or else he would’ve given you a hard time.”

that jade woman has arranged meetings between you and three specific people within the stoneheart network, including her young associate in your room. you left the golden hour with more questions than answers, and the interrogation room made you upset through a series of debates about the stellaron crisis. so what’s her purpose for accompanying you here today?

“ah, you want to know why jade sent me here? i can tell from the look in your eyes.” she pulls out documents on her person, which spells out the event you dread most. “thanks to your productive conversation at the bar and your outburst at headquarters, we believe that you’re our key player in preventing the crisis from happening again. we understand that this is a lot to take in, so please carefully consider.”

“other than that, feel free to make yourself at home. the ten stonehearts look forward to your decision.” she waves farewell as she retires for the night. you put your head in your hands and sigh, realizing that the only choice available is to cooperate with those spies. already at the point of no return, you decide to chase after her.

[luxaofhesperides]

(yourlocalcorviddad)

Wait wait wait, can there be more written about the one with Duke going on college tours with Danny??? If it's not too late?!??

(part one)

Danny’s been in love with Duke for years now. It’s always been kept a closely guarded secret, buried under as many wraps as he could get it. He tried to chase after other fleeting crushes in the hopes of moving on from his feelings for Duke, sure that they were never going to go anywhere.

How could they, when they lived states apart? 

The Danny back then would have never believed that he would one day be waking up in Duke’s arms in a hotel far away from home, traveling around the country to figure out a future together. 

Or rather, planning their own futures by each other’s sides, rather than planning to be together throughout college. Danny knows they’ll be spending even more years apart, chasing after their dreams, but it’s a gift just to a a summer together again. So what if it leads them to living on opposite sides of the country? They’ve managed to survive a long distance friendship for this long, they can keep it up for another few years.

And if it comes to it, Danny can just fly to wherever Duke is. He’s only gotten faster over the years, settling into his powers and practicing them so often. 

The future is daunting, but all his nerves are chased away by Duke’s smiles. 

“Can’t believe we’re almost done,” Duke says as they get settled at a restaurant in Massachusetts. They’re both tired, but the giddiness of getting together, of knowing their feelings are requited, keeps them energized and happy despite the long drive across state lines. 

“One state left, yeah?”

“Yeah, and I got Harvard first on the list so we can visit Jazz.”

“You’re the best,” Danny grins, stretching his legs out under the table to lightly knock his foot against Duke’s. 

This entire trip has felt like a daydream to him. It’s one thing being able to travel around the country with Duke, but to be able to kiss him wherever they go? Even now, two weeks later, Danny can’t believe how happy he is.

It makes the uncertainty of his future less scary. It helps distract him from how much he wants to escape his parents, despite how much he loves them.

Their conversation comes to a brief pause as a waiter comes by to take their order, writing everything down before hurrying away to keep up with the rush of activity in the semi-busy restaurant. 

“Oh,” Danny says, suddenly remembering the third person in their group, “Is Peter going to be joining us?” 

Peter, Duke’s chaperones, is odd but funny. He disappears and reappears like a magician, always carries a gun on him, and treats Duke like a little brother the rare moments he’s around. He’s mostly only been with them to act as transport, driving them around from university to university. 

Duke’s face does something strange when he hears Peter’s name, but it’s gone before Danny can figure out what that’s all about.

“Nah,” he answers, “He’s off doing his own thing. You’ve seen how he likes to follow his own plans.”

“So I guess we’re stopping here for the day?”

“Yeah. I’m sure we can find somewhere nice to spend the night, and until then we can explore—” Duke takes a quick moment to check the name of the town they’re in, helpfully stated on the restaurant’s wall of five star reviews “—Baldwinville. I’m sure there’s something for us to do around here.”

“I mean, we don’t have to do anything special, you know. I’d be happy to just to spend the day with you.”

Duke smiles softly, reaching over the table to take hold of Danny’s hand. “I’d like that too. Maybe we should just take some time and explore the place together. Have a relaxing day before we head to Cambridge.”

“That’ll be nice. I feel like it’s been forever since I had a quiet day.”

“Same!” Duke laughs. “Gotham’s wild, man. Did I ever tell you the story of having a barbeque with Killer Croc?”

“No! I can’t believe you kept that from me!”

Duke launches into the story as if it’s any other day, just the two of them hanging out. Danny’s enraptured as he always is when Duke shares his Gotham Stories. He doesn’t falter even when their food is brought out, and Danny tries not to blush too hard when Duke feeds Danny some of his meal, just so he can try it. 

There’s a reason Danny sometimes daydreams about what his wedding with Duke will look like, and it’s because of this.

But that’s getting way ahead of himself! He shoves the thoughts away and focuses on the story, enjoying their lunch together. 

Duke pays when they’re done, as has become routine; Danny had fought him about the first few times before Duke told him that it was all ‘Bruce fucking Wayne’s money so they don’t need to worry about costs.’ It’s a gift from the man himself to Duke, and rejecting it would be rude. 

That hit Danny right in his midwestern politeness and he could do nothing but let it happen, already planning thank you gifts for Bruce Wayne. 

They walk out into the quiet streets of Baldwinville, hand in hand. Summer has the air humid and full of buzzing insects, and the sweet scent of flowers surrounds them as they head down the sidewalk, idly looking into the display windows of each store they pass. The buildings are old, mostly made of brick, and carry a charm that’s lacking in the urban sprawl of Amity Park.

He likes it here. 

Honestly, he’s been liking a lot of what he’s seen in Massachusetts. 

He wouldn’t mind spending a few years here as he gets his Bachelor’s degree. Of course, it all depends on if he gets into the colleges of his choice, but he’s feeling hopeful about his future. He’s worked hard to bring his GPA up after his freshman year, and his ability to juggle and extreme workload has made him a master at getting things done before deadlines and adapting to things at the last minute. 

Danny idly swings their clasped hands between them as they walk, savoring the time they have together. 

The end of their summer trip is creeping up on them and Danny can feel the distance between them start to pull tight. 

They don’t speak until they wander into a park, just a large grassy field filled with wildflowers and bees. There are a few benches placed beneath large trees and Duke leads them over to it to take advantage of the offered shade.

“I can’t believe we’re almost done,” Duke says, sitting down with a sigh. He tugs Danny down after him, and Danny goes willingly. He swings his legs up to drop them across Duke’s lap, leaning against him, his heart fluttering when Duke gets a hand around his thigh to keep him in place. 

“I don’t want this summer to end,” Danny admits. “I’m not ready to leave you again.”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out. I’m not going to be away from you any longer than I have to.”

Danny can’t resist the urge to lean over and kiss him, so he doesn’t. Duke meets him with a smile, keeping the kiss slow and sweet, though the way his hand skates up Danny’s thigh sends molten heat through his veins.

He pulls back before they can escalate any further (one time in public was enough; he’s still embarrassed by it and can’t look Peter in the eyes) and leans his head against Duke’s shoulder. “It would be nice if we could live together.”

“Planning out our future already? Well, in that case, I want a dog and a pet snake.”

“Why a pet snake?”

“Just feel like it.”

“A dog would be nice,” Danny says, “As long as it gets along with Cujo. Not sure about the snake, but if you can take care of it, I’d be fine with having it around.”

“Think you’d ever live in Gotham?”

Danny considers, then shrugs. “Maybe. I dunno, it sounds like a lot and I already dealt with so much just with the ghosts in Amity Park. But I don’t think I’d mind if I was with you.”

The smile that crosses Duke’s face is soft and Danny wants to see it all the time. He loves when Duke gets flustered; Danny just turns red and shy, but Duke becomes soft and adoring in a way that makes Danny feel like he’s holding sunlight, all warm and happy.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Duke says, not yet able to bite back his smile. “Now that we’ve visited most of the places on our list, do you know which ones you’re going to apply to?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Danny answers. He’s been thinking about where he wants to go since summer started and he left school with Mr. Lancer reminder everyone to think about college and preparing their applications. 

It’s been a topic that’s never left his mind since for the past couple months, wondering about what the future holds for him. He honestly never thought he’s get this far, having died at 14 and struggled to adapt to how his life changed after. But he’s gotten back on track with school, has a handle on the ghosts, and the support of his parents to go anywhere he wants. 

For so long he’s been stuck in the routine of school, fight, struggle. There was never any time for anything else, much less planning for the future, and now it’s hanging heavy over his head. 

At least he gets to be with Duke as he figures things out. It’s like going back to their childhood, spending summers together, but they’re both grown up now, walking ever closer to the next stages of their lives. 

He’d love to get into MIT, but he knows the chances of being accepted are insanely low. He’ll apply anyways, just in case, but Danny’s prepared to go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere else in Massachusets. Or maybe go to New York. 

“I really liked the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. If I get in, I think I’m gonna go there,” Danny says, putting his hopes for the future into words.  

“Yeah? I think I might try to get into a college up here too,” Duke replies. “If things work out, we won’t be so far from each other.”

“And even if we do end up far away again, we can make long distance work. Right?”

There’s a worry in the back of his mind that Duke won’t like a long distance relationship, that he’ll be off in college falling in love with someone else, but there’s barely a second before Duke says, “Of course,” as though it’s obvious. Like he hadn’t considered any other option. 

Danny’s heart settles and he shoves away the rest of his general anxieties. There’s no time for that now! 

He intends to enjoy the rest of his summer trip with Duke to the fullest extent possible, which means all of that is a problem for Future Danny.

“Should we go find Peter? We’ll need to figure out where we’re staying tonight.”

“I think we can go a few more hours to a bigger town,” Duke says, “Not that this place isn’t nice, it’s just too quiet. It’s weird.”

“Alright, city boy,” Danny says, standing up from the bench. He pulls Duke up after him, leaning over to kiss the exaggerated offended expression off his face. It’s not like he’s wrong, anyways; Gotham is a big city, and Duke is an urban boy through and through, especially compared to Danny, who comes from a large town and has family living in reclusive rural Appalachia.

“Small towner,” Duke returns, nipping lightly at Danny’s bottom lip and laughing when he squeaks in surprise.

He pulls away before Danny can retaliate, and Danny lets him go, saving his revenge for after they get to their next hotel. 

Their time together is coming to an end soon, and as much as the future terrifies and excites him in equal measure, knowing Duke will be with him, one way or another, gives him the courage to keep going.

He hopes Jazz will be happy that Duke’s dating him now. He’s already hoping to ask her to be a bridesmaid for him.

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Eleven

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence

Notes: A few days late, so thank you for waiting! I had a rough weekend, but I couldn’t not put something out for you wonderful people that have shown me so much love for this story.

Word Count: 1491

Series Masterlist

• March 16th, 2005 • Bella’s Ballet Studio •

Reader

I swear, Isabella Swan sure knows how to talk me into some seriously stupid plans. Okay, so maybe she didn’t really talk me into joining her, but I couldn’t exactly let her go face a bloodthirsty vampire on her own. Two humans against one vampire, not much by the way of odds considering we have no means for being any kind of physical challenge.

We managed to slip past Alice and Jasper while they were in the lobby checking out. After getting a phone call from Edward that the nomads figured out the rouse, both he and Jasper decided to get us far away… whatever that means long-term.

“So… you got a plan?” I ask her once we exit the taxi.

Jasper is going to murder me for managing to run away from him undetected and throwing myself head first into danger.

“I hadn’t really thought that far, he’s got my mom Y/n.” She pauses a few seconds before turning to enter the ballet studio she attended as a kid and I follow.

It’s silent in the building until we enter the main studio room lined with mirrors.

“Bella! Bella? Bella-where are you?” I hear her mom call out.

“Mom?” Bella begins running in the direction of her voice with me hot on her heels, “Mom?” She asks again as she whips open the doors to a closet in the back of the room.

Only it’s empty. Except for a tv. Playing an old home-movie of Bella as a child.

“That’s my favorite part,” the nomad James taunts Bella as he stalks toward us, “You were a stubborn child, weren’t you?”

Renee isn’t here, never was.

Terror, absolute terror shocks through me. It’s a trap and we walked straight into it without even questioning it. Jasper and Alice don’t even know where we are, I can only hope they’ve even figured out we’re gone by now.

I turn to run to the doors we just entered through, if I could just get outside and call-

But James is there in a flash, hand fisted around my throat. “Leaving so soon? The party hasn’t started yet.” He throws me against a wall as he stalks forward to Isabella, “Have a seat, you won’t want to miss this.”

I continue to flash in and out of consciousness as he plays with the both of us, taunting Edward and Jasper in his twisted video. Breaking Bella’s leg, a blow to my side to keep me from running again, the pain was all-encompassing.

And my only thought was, I hope they find us in time.

“Darlin’, can you open your eyes for me?” Frantic words and cold fingers ghost over my skin.

I manage to crack one blurry eye open, “Jasper?” I croak out slightly confused. How long have I been out? Am I still in the studio?

“Carlisle!” Is the Jasper Hale panicking? I crack a smile on my busted lips and it earns me a line of questioning.

“What’s so funny, doll? Hmm?” Chilly hands continue to inspect my broken body, I can see his wide eyes flicking over my injuries. Not hunger - no, concern.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you panic, Hale.” I say calmly, at odds with the chaos stirring around us.

“Well, I’ve never seen you… like this. Because of me.” He won’t meet my gaze.

“Not because of you,” cough “I made the decision to tag along with Bella,” I paused to let out a particularly rough cough, “we thought he had,” another cough “her mom, we had to do something.”

“Carlisle, I need you!” He’s definitely panicking now, the tone in his voice getting harder the more labored my breathing.

“What’s-” but his dad stops mid-question as he slides up to the side not occupied by his son, his gaze accessing. “Talk to me Y/n, what hurts?”

“Uh, everything?” The stern look I receive from both men has me reconsidering. “Chest - feels like someone is sitting on it. Head definitely got smacked around and my arm-“ I try to lift it show Carlisle.

“Sprained at the wrist, but not broken. Ribs probably broken, maybe a punctured lung, definitely a concussion.” Jasper lets out a breath at his dad’s assessment like he’s been punched and I roll my head in his direction.

Carlisle turns to his son, “Help Emmett take care of James, I’ve got her.” He doesn’t offer him a comforting touch, as if Jasper’s distressed state were a palpable and volatile thing.

Jasper gives him a hard look for a few beats before nodding. Not sparing me a glance, he disappeared from my limited view before I could blink.

“I’m taking both you and Bella to the hospital, I don’t have the supplies to treat either one of you. I don’t have anything to even give you a needle decompression, like I suspect you need and soon.” Carlisle briefs me as he finishes up his assessment of my broken body.

“Don’t call my mom, please-“

“Y/n, she deserves to know you’re injured.” He replies softly. “And it’ll be impossible to avoid explaining your injuries when you return home.”

My open eye blinks slowly, trying to think of a plan that doesn’t involve freaking my mother out.

“Y/n?” Carlisle pats my cheek lightly to gain my attention, but I can’t hear him anymore. Muffled shouting and I’m lifted in a pair of arms that are semi-familiar. I groan in pain and I’m shushed gently before everything fades to black.

At least the darkness takes away the pain.

• March 18th, 2005 • Hospital - Phoenix, Arizona•

Jasper

Beep, beep, beep… The heart monitor grating on every exposed nerve in my chest. As someone not completely accustomed to an animal-only vampire diet, hospitals are a massive no-go, but I didn’t really have a choice. Not when it comes to her.

So I swallow the white-hot hunger and try to let the incessant beeping lull me into a meditative state. She’ll be okay, that’s what her doctor and my father told me.

Four broken ribs, a punctured lung, a sprained wrist, a fractured orbital bone, and a mild concussion. My hands tighten painfully to ground me in the moment, James is dead - hell, he’s ash now. He hurt her and now he no longer terrorizes my girl which is good enough for me, has to be.

I know he filmed it, Edward watched it, but I can’t bring myself to. After sensing his rage, I know I would absolutely combust from anger, to see his hands on her… I can’t. I can hardly stand to sit here across the room and see her face bruised and swollen, body covered with tubes and wires.

A sharp intake of breath pulls me from the dark recesses of my mind. I want to stand and walk to her, but I don’t quite have a grip on my control yet. Anger, hunger, or this terrified feeling lodged in my throat.

“Jaz?” She croaks out, not seeing me due to her eye injury obstructing her view.

“I’m here.” I assure her, the quiet rumble of my voice having a noticeable relaxing effect on her tired body.

“Why are you-” a pause, “Oh god-I’m in a hospital-” I immediately flash to her side as her heartbeat picks up and worry begins to flood the room.

“Shh sweetheart, you’re alright.” Smoothing the hair on her forehead and her emotions at the same time.

“No-you,” she chokes out, “you-you’re here and-and-”

“I’m fine. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” I tell her resolutely, my fingers still caressing her beautiful face.

“If it hurts too much, if you aren’t ready to be in a place like this, I’ll understand. Your eyes…” her fingers trace lightly over the tops of my cheeks and I hold perfectly still. My eyes must be pitch black by now, but there are more important matters - like her in this hospital bed.

I give her a wan smile, “Darlin’, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

A blush rises to her cheeks at my words and it eases the restriction in my chest a fraction.

Her smile cracks, “My mom?”

“Downstairs.” Her face blanches completely, “I called her, she’s not mad-“

But her mother opens the door to her room slowly, trying to preserve the quiet.

“Mom?” Y/n asks tenderly, I stand to give them space as she rushes to her daughter’s bedside.

“I’m going to go find my father.” I tell them, giving Y/n one more lingering look before disappearing silently out of the door, save for the click of the latch.

“He’s been here the whole time,” her mom starts explaining, “I haven’t been able to get him to leave your side to even eat anything…” I stop paying attention as I walk down the corridor to give them privacy.

Next

[sepublic]

Luz Noceda 🤝 Miles Morales

            Afro-latine teenagers with pressure on their shoulders to figure out their future, and also save the world. They love their parents and want to make them proud, but also struggle with lying to them, afraid they won’t be accepted for their strangeness. Bright, wonderful kids who meet friends from another world, and whose chosen future is to continue to engage with those other worlds and the family they made there. They’re separated from those worlds and work hard to get there, feeling lonely without the ones who understand.

         They are regarded as anomalies, not fitting in with the world of others like them that they visit. They are born of chance and coincidence, and suffer a villain who is convinced of the connections and parallels they have; I made you, and you made me! But that villain wants to take away one of the families they’ve made. They question if they’re a real witch/Spider-Man with how unlike the others they are, but eventually embrace their unique identity and the unexpected advantages it has.

         They struggle with the narrative, from a meta sense; They know how the story goes, the hero returns home from their adventure, the captain dies. But they hope to defy that ending and make their own, do their own thing. This puts them at odds with an older man who insists things must go a certain way, that there must be a sacrifice of some kind, particularly with their parents; But Luz and Miles ask, why do I have to choose? Why can’t we, and everyone else, have it all? Why not choose the path of compassion, instead of making others lose in order to grow? Their kindness affects those around them, sparing them what they themselves suffered, or are afraid to experience.

         They’re kids caught between two worlds, but they’re also tired of being seen as just weak, ineffectual kids; They can do things too, they can fight and help! And make their own decisions! So when their mentor, a once-jaded person who got their life back together with the kid’s help, suggests sending that teen away for their own good… No, I’m staying here with all of you guys, because I love you, and I don’t have to lose my parents back at my other home either!

         One could argue that these kids, by being involved, created a tragic story, made things worse by sparking the conflict at all, and they doubt themselves for that; Luz helped Philip Wittebane find the Collector, Miles took the place of Peter Parker, leading to his death. But they’re here, so they may as well make the most of it, choose themselves, and forge their own destinies. It’s okay, they can forgive themselves, too. They’re gonna rebel against the status quo to deconstruct it and change things, by asking critically; Why does it have to be this way? Question the rules, as a punk friend tells them.

Amity Blight 🤝 Gwen Stacy

                    On another note; White girlfriends to the above-mentioned with undercuts. Because of their own mistakes, said girlfriends lost a meek, glasses-wearing childhood friend that they saw themselves as a protector for; That friend was tired of the bullying and their anger boiled over into something destructive (and green), wanting to be seen as just as capable. Amity and Gwen struggle with a period of loneliness and isolation because of the loss of that friend, blaming themselves for what happened. They meet Luz and Miles under less than ideal circumstances, but manage to open up because of them.

        Amity and Gwen struggle with approval and acceptance from their father, who works for the system and contributes to enforcing its oppression. But that father realizes he has alienated his daughter, who finds a different family without him, and chooses his child over the system, abandoning it to become a better person. Amity and Gwen both want to be with their loved ones, supporting them, and because of that break ties with the system and another parental figure. They make sure to rally the other friends their loved ones have made, to lift up the protagonist at their lowest points; They’ll answer the call to return the favor in their time of need.

[luimagines]

Ooh! I remembered the idea that fell out of my head!

A sequel to the “boys lost a bet” one where Reader figured them out after watching their attempts at flirting. Reader then decides to attempt to fluster them until they confess (even if it takes weeks) or in poor Sky’s case until they decide they’ve messed with him enough since he accidentally confessed during his attempt.

- Glitter, slowly recovering from surprise and having fun spamming your inbox in between bits of homework ✨

OOoooooo!! Cute idea! I'm on it!

I’m also... going to take a few creative liberties here and just say that it’s after the event. Mostly because it’s not going to be that way for a few boys. A.k.a I already had it written before I reread your request and realized that it didn’t quite fit in.

Masterlist

You can read the first part right here.

Content under the cut!

Sky

When you left to finish up your patch work, Sky made his way back to the game. He seemed to sway on his feet somewhat with a bright, if dim witted, smile on his face.

Sky collapsed on the ground next to Wild and sits criss cross apple sauce. His jaw lands in his hands without opening his eyes. “So... I did it.”

“We saw.” Hyrule blinks owlishly. “I didn’t think that would happen.”

“You weren’t the only one.” Warrior rubs his jaw and stares at the number he’s just rolled. “Not where I thought the odd would lie to be honest.”

Sky giggles, too happy and giddy to be of much help to anyone. “Is it my turn again?”

“Uhhhh...” Wild picks up the dice. “I think it’s mine? We all stopped to watch you fall on face. But you didn’t do that.”

“I didn’t do that.” Sky agree happily.

Wild looks around for anyone who is willing to stop him from taking his turn but no one does. “I’m betting fifteen rupees for anything higher than a eight.”

“Twenty for anything lower than eight!” Four leans forward already back in the game.”

Wind cackles just under his breath. “Forty for anything lower than four.” 

The blacksmith gives him a dirty look.

Time says nothing, not willing to bet anything this round. He was glad on two accounts that Sky lost the previous roll. For one, it obviously went very well for the young lad and Time is glad that it worked out in the end. But the second reason speaks a little louder in the back of his head. Time had bet just one above Sky. It saved him from losing the bet and taking the punishment.

The Old Man nudges Sky with his elbow and gestures with his head away from the group. 

Sky smiles back easily and gets up without complaint. Which is more than what Time’s joints can say.

“You wanted to talk?”

Time leans against a tree and raises an eyebrow. “And what were expecting to come out of that when you went?”

Sky’s face lights up in a blush again. A hand comes up to scratch the back of his head but he can still save if. He can play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Ok, maybe not. Sky grins awkwardly. “I was thinking I would trip over myself , look like an idiot and then they’d laugh and wave me away.”

“And what happened?” Time asks, as if he wasn’t watching with one hundred percent of his attention like the rest of the group was.

Sky’s blush darkens and he toes the dirt beneath his boot. “I got a kiss out of it.”

Time smiles like a proud father. “What else?”

“I may have... told them that I like them... and they said they liked me too.” Sky admits quietly.

“Good. I was wonder when you two were going to catch on and do something about it.”

Sky’s head snaps up to face Time head on, embarrassment completely foregone to make room for the shock that followed. “...What?...”

Time gets off of the tree and reaches forward, patting Sky on the head and ruffles his hair for good measure. “You’re good kids. I’m happy for you.”

“...What?...”

“Just don’t do anything to get the both of you in trouble at the end of the day.”

“Wait, Time you KNEW?!?”

Twilight

Twilight waited just as you told him to. He didn’t even think of moving. He couldn’t think. Period.

You had somehow managed to put his entire thought process on halt.

He couldn’t hear that you were saying to the others guys but when you returned, you had a blinding smile and you clapped in delight. Twilight couldn’t help but feel happy on your behalf. “Did it all go well?”

“I oh so happened to clear your schedule for tomorrow in the process.” You inform him, looking rather proud of yourself.

“Did you now?” He raises an eyebrow. Now Twilight knows that feels better. Because the words comes easy and the conversation isn’t that different than it would have been that morning or the day before.

“Yes.” You sit down next to him and unhesitatingly put your head on his shoulder. “I would very much like to occupy that time slot if you’d let me.”

Twilight freezes. He’s been chosen. He can not so much as move a muscle or else if would throw you off. Like being a cat’s chosen spot for a nap, you mustn’t move. It’s illegal. 

“Do you have something in mind?” Twilight speaks on baited breath. He might be able to think of something to fill the time. If you’re asking to spend time with just him, then there’s many things that Twilight can think of to entertain you. There’s no corner of his heart that he wouldn’t turn over just to make you smile for a fraction of a second.

“Not really.” You admit and turn your head to look over at him. “Do you have any ideas? I’m not picky.”

Twilight hums, slowly wrapping his arm around you. Is this ok? Would you push him off? Well, you put yourself there, surely this isn’t crossing any boundaries.

“I have a few.” He admits, not wanting to jump on the chance like the excited puppy he feels himself becoming. If he had his tail it would be wagging like crazy. 

Sometimes he hates the traits the wolf had brought out of him and then he realize that if anything, the wolf itself was brought out first.

You poke his cheek and grin, startling him from his thoughts. “I mean, you’ve been thinking of stuff for a while now.”

“Well yes, but I was never sure if you wanted-” Twilight pauses and looks over to you. “....Yes. I like spending time with you.”

“Mhm.” You smirk, running your hand over the one that holds you. “Is that all?”

Twilight clears his throat, already feeling his bravado slipping. “What do you mean?”

“So all those little things you’ve done were... oh I don’t know... because you were the hero to save the day?” You looks away. It was possible...But at the same time, if he correct in guessing what you’re talking about... It’s not true.

“I see...” Twilight bite his lip. “And what made you suspect my feelings?” 

You seem to relax further into him and sigh. “It had to do with Wolfie. Now I love the dog, he’s a sweetheart and a good boy, but every time you came back and someone mentioned him, you would look at me. Like you were jealous.”

Twilgiht chokes on his spit.

“I couldn’t help but begin to ask myself if it was too good to be true.” You smiles shyly. “And then I asked Warrior and he said it was a clear as day. I didn’t want to take his word for it so I asked Time... who said almost the exact same things.”

“Last time I tell the Old Man anything.” Twilight mutters under his breath.

You laugh. ”So I was just waiting to see if you would do anything about it.”

“And if I never did?” He asks, afraid of the answer. Is it selfish of him? Yes. The right to do would be to move on, no matter if it hurts to hear or not.

“Hey, who just cleared your schedule, you or me?” You push him lightly. 

Twilight smiles. “Alright. Then let me show you around tomorrow then.”

“You better.”

Legend

Given his very open and shy way of trying to flirt with you, you didn’t think it was that much of a guess that there was some genuine feeling within it. So you got a bit more liberal with how you interacted with the Hero of Legend.

This did not help him in any way or form.

You had taken to walking closer to him, trying to ease your way into being beside him. When he seemed to be calm enough with your presence you tried talking to him.

That took longer than you thought it would.

It seems that Legend was more self conscious than you thought. Every time it came to you, he would clam up and try to avoid eye contact. Something about the way he flushed bright red each and every time told you that he was still thinking about the bet he lost.

It was cute. If annoying.

But you weren’t about to give up just yet!

When he was able to hold a conversation with you once more, you got a little bit closer.

Until one day you just bit the bullet and grabbed his hand.

Legend jerked it back as if you had burned him and hid it away from you. All conversation had died in that moment. And he was once again avoiding you. It was a miracle that he didn’t straight up run away.

You pout. Well that was disappointing. “Legend... did I do something wrong?”

“N-no.” Legend bites his lip. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry about it anyway. You look at your hand, trying to figure out why he rejected it. “Was there something wrong with my hand?”

“Of course not.” Legend shakes his head, still looking down. “It was very soft.”

“Well you coulda fooled me. You certainly didn’t react that way.” You mutter.

You hadn’t intended for him to hear you, but he flinches. “Sorry.”

Slowly, he pulls his hands back from where they were. “I’m sorry.” He repeats himself. “It was pure reflex.”

“It’s fine.” You sigh, feeling like you might have ruined everything. You keep walking, but this time with your hands kept firmly by your sides.

You both walk in silence for the a few more moments. You’re lamenting internally about your ruined chances and how you might have been wrong this entire time about him. 

Legend was also busy kicking himself. Every now and then he would look over your way. He was nervous and feeling dumb. The answer was so simple and so genuine but he was afraid. But of what, he couldn’t tell you.

He knew that there was only one way to really fix this.

He huffed and puffed but managed to bring himself to do it.

Legend reaches over and pinches your sleeve. You hum and look down.

Legend moves his hand and slips his grip over your wrist before it shifts to hold your hand. You hold his back and look over to him with a grin.

He still can’t meet your eyes. “Just warn me next time.”

“Aww~! You do like me.” You swings your hands back and forth with a blinding smile.

“I do.” Legend smiles softly even if he still struggles to meet your eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone else.”

“Right, right.” You giggle. “Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Tough Guy.” 

Wind

Wind had been avoiding you a bit after the bet he lost. You didn’t know why. You thought everything was fine but he wasn’t even able to look you in the eye anymore. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

You missed your best friend.... Well your best friend was actually waiting for you to return home but within the group, Wind was your best friend and you missed him.

“Wind won’t talk to me.” You pout as you walk next to Warrior for the day. “I don’t know why.... Is it because I kissed his cheek?”

“Yes.” Warrior replies without missing a beat. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing, you know.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope.” Warrior smiles easily. “He just needs to think some stuff through. But if continues bothering you, you should talk about it.”

You nod, falling silent once more. That made sense.

“Can’t he think faster?” You mutter, not expecting a response for that particular question.

Warrior hears it anyway and laughs. “We’re about to stop for lunch soon. Why not just talk to him then?”

You nod again and wait.

True to his word, Warrior was right to guess that you would get a break soon. You caught up to the ones at the front of the group and waited for those at the back to catch up.

When Wind finally made his way to the group, you b-lines toward him. His somewhat concerned gaze made you slow your step and your confidence tanked.

“Um...” You rubbed your arm, ignoring the stares of the entire group. They seemed incredibly invested in this for some reason. “Link... Can we talk?”

Wind also seemed nervous but he nods, ready to follow where ever you lead him.

When you get far enough from the group, you take in a deep breath hoping that no one followed you. You looked at him and take in the way he fidgets and avoids looking at you head on. He’s already flustered if the pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

Warrior said to talk to him, but maybe you should have thought about what you wanted to say first. How do you started this?”

“I’m sorry.”

Wind snaps his face to meet your eyes head on. He looks shocked.

“I didn’t mean... Did I make things awkward?” You bite you lip. “Is it my fault?”

“Oh... Um...No...” Wind looks down again and scratches the back of his neck. “You didn’t make things awkward.”

“Well I feel awkward.” You admit. “You don’t talk to me. You run away from me. And I think it’s because I kissed your cheek... So... I’m sorry.”

“That’s not-!” Wind chokes on his spit. He jumped to correct you but had breathed down the wrong pipe in the process. He starts coughing up a storm and you pat his back to try and soothe the pain that no doubt forms. “That’s not it.”

You frown. All the signs point to that you made him uncomfortable. Shouldn’t you apologize for it? It’s technically your fault that you’re here. You tell him as such.

“No, no...” Wind flusters further. “I was trying to not make you feel uncomfortable.”

You don’t understand what he’s trying to get at. ”...What?”

Wind bite his lips. his eyes dart back and forth and you see he’s two seconds from pacing back and forth. “I just-! It was.... cute.. and nice... and soft..” His voice tapers off into a whisper the more he speaks. “I liked it more than I thought I would... and I didn’t want to make things weird by wanting to do it myself.”

You think you understand less. “...What?”

Wind groans and kisses your cheek without asking. “There. I did it. That’s what.”

You freeze- feeling your own blush form. Your finger tips go to touch the spot before you explode into giggles. “Oh... that’s not so bad.”

Wind acts like he just got smacked. “...It’s not?”

“Warrior was right.”

“... don’t say that. Ever again.”

You laugh louder and take his hand. “You’re silly.”

“I know.”

“But it was nice.” You grin and begin to lead him back to the group. “Now stop avoiding me, ok? I miss you.”

“I think I can do that.”

Warrior

“Warrior, calm down.” Four puts his hands out to placate the other boy. “What did they even say?”

“For me to know and you to never find out.” Warrior grins, tossing a solid red rupee on the growing pile of bets. “Take my cut. I bet a seven.”

“What does that have to do with-”

“Thank you! Be back soon!” He hollers, doing his best to run back to you now that he knows you’re waiting for him.

When he returns, you waiting with your hands on your hips and a unknown gleam in your eye. You seem to know what you’re doing. Warrior feels drawn to your gaze and he forces himself to slow down. “Ok, what is it?”

You grin and turn on your heel, not giving him a verbal response. You gesture your fingers in a come hither motion and Warrior follows like the sap he is.

You lead him away form the group, further into the tree line and away from both prying eyes and sensitive ears.

You turn to Warrior and wiggle your eyebrows.

Not sure how to take this change in developments, Warrior finds himself flustered but eager. Still, your change in demeanor is intriguing and hot. He blushes deeply.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what I have planned.” You say calmly, steeping into his personal space.

He gulps. “Yes.”

“And I’m sure you’re wondering if this has anything to do with what you very bravely decided to say to my face not too long ago.” You grin putting your hands on his forearms.

“Maybe.” He licks his lip unthinkingly. You’ve pinned his arms to his side. He’s willing trapped himself to you. Warrior has no idea where you’re going with this, but you have his full attention.

“And I’m also sure that you’ve been watching me a for a while now.” Your hands travel up his his arms and over chest. You’re being very brave yourself if you had to be honest. 

You’re purposefully going slow. Warrior assumes it’s just to be even more tantalizing than you already are and it’s making him inpatient. But you’re really just testing the waters of how far he’ll let you go.

“Was I that obvious?” Warrior places his hand on your hips now that you’ve freed them. He pulls you flush against him. 

“Maybe.” You’re eyes go wide with desire. Perhaps you’re the one he’s been waiting for this whole time. 

Your hands travel up his chest and rest on his shoulders. Warrior leans into your face. Your noses brush together in an hesitant dance. 

You can find it in yourself to grow bashful as Warrior has. You lean into it as well, running your hands even higher, cradling his head as you go. He hums in satisfaction. “...Admittedly I’m less certain about this.”

“About what?” He says quietly, slowly swaying with you in his arms.

“This. Us.” You reply in the same quiet tone.

“...And why’s that?” He’s calm even as he trouble looking you in the eye.

You have to think about it. This feels right. This feels good. Why is that you feel like something is missing?

“I can wait.” Warrior says after a moment of your silence. “I’ll always wait for you.”

You hum for a moment longer. You don’t want that.

You kiss him.

Hyrule

“Oh Hyruule~” You called, borderline skipping to his side.

You needn’t say anything else. Hyrule is already blushing before a single words leaves your lips.

The image seems to make you giggle and come close. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Hyrule smiles back at you but he struggles to meet your eyes. He hates how flustered he’s gotten around you. As if he couldn’t be more obvious.

“How are you today?” You take his arm and start walking with him.

Hyrule doesn’t know how exactly to deal with this turn of events. He’s already starting to lose his nerve, “I’m fine.”

You both walk in comfortable silence after that. At least, he’s sure that you think it’s comfortable since you smile never left your face. Hyrule can feel his nerves jump all over his skin and he’s not sure how he’s going make a fool out of himself this time.

“I’ve bene thinking.” You say and Hyrule gives you his attention without questions.

“About what?”

“A while ago you came to me and called me angle.” You smile up at him. “Remember that?”

As if he’s allowed himself to forget about it. Although he felt his insides curl up and die from the embarrassment, you had kissed his cheek. Even if he still cringes at the thought of his awkwardness, he had to admit, it was worth it.

“I do.” He admits. He remembers the entire thing beat for beat. It’s the only thing he can think of as of late.

“I still think you were very sweet.” You lean you head against him.

Hyrule’s heart starts to beat faster. He hopes you don’t notice. “Than you? I think?”

“Can I tell you something in return?” You give him a dazzling smile in return. Hyrule nods, unable to form words any longer. You poke his cheek. “I think that you’re a very good person. I want you to know that you’re very important to me. And that I like you very much.”

Hyrule nods, biting his lip harshly. Does he say he likes you back? Isn’t that just confessing? But you said you liked him. As friends, he’s sure.

“You’re overthinking.” You pout. “I just said that I like you and you’re not going to say anything.”

“Uh... I like you to.” Hyrule strangles out. “You’re important to me too. I treasure you.”

You pause and grin. “In that case, would you be willing to go with me to town tonight? I heard that had a great place to get some food at and I wanted to try it.”

His heart melts. You’re so precious. “Of course. I’d love to go with you.”

You jump in place excitedly and move in to kiss his cheek again. “Great! It’s a date!”

You dash away with wink and a throw of your hips. Hyrule watches you move away from him. He’s vaguely ware that his jaw is open and that he pays a little to much attention to the way you move, but you’ve once again mamabged to catch him off guard.

He thinks he loves you.

A sigh leaves his lips before he can stop himself. How can he deny you of anything? If you wanted him to go with you to into town he would have done so in a heart beat- wait-

Date?!

Time

Something changed between you and Time after that day.

At first you didn’t want to think too much about it. Your crush on the man wasn’t going to get in the way of being peaceable with him So what if he called you pretty and lovely. It have to mean anything. And you’re sure that it was because of that dumb game the boys were playing anyway.

But he’s taken to... being a little more physical with you.

It’s subtle but you’re almost certain that you’re almost always within arms reach of the man.

When you’re walking, he’s there ever so slightly brushing your hand with his as you walk.  If you eating, you’re next to him- almost thigh to thigh. You think you’re even sleeping closer to him nowadays.

The thought makes your mouth go dry.

To make matters worse you think that your crush is only growing more and more obvious. Does he know? Is that why he’s doing this? Or are you doing this? That’s a mortifying thought.

“Wait.” Time stops you from going forward.

You freeze in place and looks up at him. “Yes?”

He smiles and leans downwards, reaching just a bit top pluck a wayward leaf from your shirt. The gently tug by your side causes you to hold your breath. Time doesn’t seem to notice the way you hitch your breath. “You had a straggler.” 

“Thank you.” You take the leaf, brushing you fingertips with his. He tilts his head, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear. “You’re welcome.”

Time smiles and turns to leave.

You can’t take much more of this tip toe game. You need to get to the bottom of it. Either he takes further or he ceases entirely. You’re heart is going to combust if nothing changes.

“Link.” You grab his hand. “Can I ask you something?”

Now it’s his turn to freeze. “Of course.”

“You once called me pretty.”

“I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

“I did.”

“You once called me lovely.”

“I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

I did.”

You stomp your foot and pull him towards you. You’re entirely sure why you did it. “Why?” You ask him. “You’ve never said that to me before.”

That seems to throw time for a loop. you think you catch his eyeline dip to where your lips ear instead of looking you in the eye. “Because it’s true.”

“And the boys didn’t tell you to do that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“That would be cruel.” Time says. “I may have lost the game that day but I have been tell you that for a while now.”

“Do you mean that?” You lean into his space.

He looks away. You can see the way his jaw clenches.

“Link.” You press. “Would you have told me that?”

He doesn’t answer as quickly as you’d like.

You let him go and sigh- ignoring the hurt you didn’t know it would cause. “Alright.”

You start to walk away but he pulls you back. It’s rougher than he intends and you crash against his chest. “Please.” He says. “I’m not one to speak easily. I...wanted to... But I don’t know if I ever would without the push.”

You hum and rap your arms around his neck. “In that case...Is this ok?”

He nods and chances a kiss to your forehead. “Is this ok?”

“Absolutely.” 

Four

Four was walking on clouds for the rest of the week.

The memory of you kissing his cheek was on replay the entire time. The spot still tingled with the sensation whenever he thought about it. Because of it, he was having harder times concentrating and found himself staring at you from a distance with soft features and smitten gazes.

It was beginning to get on the nerves of those in the know.

“Is anyone going to do something about this?” Hyrule asks quietly, away from ear shot. “He’s been all smiles for days. Was this supposed to happen?”

“Well...” Warrior scratches the back of his head. “Yes and no. Did anyone see up close what they said to him?”

“Nope.”

“I didn’t.”

“Not a clue.”

“I got a picture.” Wild speaks up with an ear to ear grin. “I was hoping someone would notice. I’ve been holding onto this.”

The boy instantly crowd around the boy. “Show us! Show us!” They cry. “We want to know.”

With a smirk, Wild pulls up the photo taken at just the right moment. Your eyes are closed where as Four’s are wide open. Your lips are placed delicately on his cheek. Shock covers the entirety of Four’s face but you couldn’t seem to care less about your actions.

“Oh.” Hyrule clears his throat a bit. “That explains a lot actually.”

Warrior whistles. “No wonder his head has been up in the clouds. I didn’t know the boy scored.”

Wild shuts it off before anyone can get near to see his blackmail treasure. “You’re welcome.”

You jumped next to the boy, startling them all. “Whatcha looking at?”

“AH!” Wild manly screams. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Hyrule snickers at the timing.

“Wild showed us a picture of The Lord of the Mountain, he calls it.” Warrior shrugs, seemingly nonplused by the interruption. “I’ve never seen a creature like it. I wouldn’t be able to tell what it is truly, except a once in a lifetime creature.”

Wild nods in haste. While it was a lie, Wild had shown Warrior a picture of the same creature earlier that week. He licks his lips in an subconscious tell. “Did I show you? I don’t remember.”

You shake your head and lean over to see it.

Wild panics a bit, hoping that you don’t see the picture in the icons in the sides. He pulls it up and you ‘ooo’ and ‘aaa’. “Pretty.”

“Not as much as you.” Four speaks as he passes, not missing a beat.

You jump, not dissimilar to how Wild did moment prior and your attention snaps to the blacksmith as he walks away. “Hey!” You call out, a flushed look to your cheeks. “That’s not fair!”

“But it’s completely true!” He calls back.

“Oh my goodness...” You huff but don’t seem to mind it too much. “He’s been doing this more often even since you all played the stupid game. I have to catch up with him. Very nice, Wild. Thank you for showing me.”

You leave quickly, attempting to catch up with Four. “I can’t believe you, cheater! Didn’t you say that it was only when Legend was nearby-”

“I couldn’t keep myself from being honest.” Four reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together.

The other boys stare in astonishment, watching them get further and further away.

“Oh that’s our fault.” Warrior blinks.

Hyrule and Wild nod in tandem. 

“But they look happy at least.”

Wild

You and Wild walk away for a while. Neither of you say anything until you both find a nice clearing amongst the forest flowers.

“Ooh, pretty.” You beam and let go of Wild to pick some of them up.

Wild watches you blissfully, happy that he hadn’t made a total fool of himself. “We can press them in a book, if you’d like?”

You snap your head back to him and nod. “I used to do that back home with my mother. But I had to stop when she got sick.”

“Yeah?” Wild sits down next to you. “Well we can save the flower in my sheikah slate if you’d like. They’d last longer until we can find a good book to use.”

“You’d let me.” You turn to him and lean in close. “Are you sure?”

Wild narrows in on the distance that remains and nods, swallowing hard. “Of course.”

“You’re very kind.” You smile, watching his every reaction. “And you know... I wanted to ask you something.”

You lean away. Wild breathes as if he hadn’t been able to do that the entire time. “What is it?”

“I wanted to know why the boys told you to flirt with me.” You back your smirk.

Wild pales and finds himself falling backwards. Luckily, he was already on the ground. He manages to catch himself before he lose himself. “Um... I don’t know either.”

“I believe you do.” You answer simply. You don’t look at him, too enthralled with the flowers in front of you. “If only you wouldn’t react that way if you were clueless.”

Wild gulps again. “...They... you know how they can be.” He laughs, trying to play it off. “I think they were trying to pull our legs.”

You hum, and begin to braid the flowers together. “And that has nothing to do with you staring at me more and more?”

Wild pales even further, if it was possible. “I’m sorry.”

You laugh. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m just asking.”

Wild looks away. His blush slowly begins to consume his face. “I can’t help it. You’re just... very pretty... and your skin looks soft... And you are very nice to look at...”

“You’re very nice to look at as well.” You say with a smile, not looking at him.

“I didn’t mean to be obvious.” Wild admits as he scratches the back of his head. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“On the contrary.” You pick up another flower and braid it into your chain. “I quite liked your attention.”

Wild freezes and shifts his vision towards you. “Oh really?”

“Yes.” You say with a smile on your face. “If you haven’t noticed I was trying to look extra pretty whenever you looked my way.”

“Were you now?” Wild leans a little closer to you.

You close the distance and flop backwards. Your head lands in his lap and look up to him with a wide smile. “Absolutely.”

Wild freezes again and slowly- every so slowly, places his hand in you hair, petting you gently. “What else did you notice that I failed to do subtly?”

“You always seemed to want to hold my hand and be near me.” You say confidently. You’re rewarded when Wild loses his nerve to look at you. You’re correct in your statement.

“Anything else?” He tries again.

“You’re very sweet to me.” You continue, placing your finished flower crown at the top of his head. “And I’d very much like to kiss you.”

Wild short circuits. 

You lean up close to his face and grin. “May I?”

“Yes. Don’t even ask.”

[missmaywemeetagain]

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

A/N: Somehow, against all odds in this absolute chaos of a week, I managed to bang out the "Army Elvis" prompt for this week today, like a maniac. I am both shocked and amazed that I wrote a smutty one-shot without overthinking it but also be warned this is hardly edited or revised, nor even really thought out! 😂

Thanks always to my sister wives in chaos and crime: @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis and @from-memphis-with-love

TW: Smut! Orgasms! Basically no plot!

Rating: Mature 18+ || Word Count: 2.7k

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

He wants to fuck you. Oh lord how he wants to fuck you, from the moment you walk in the room and sit across the aisle from him.

Maybe it’s the curve of your calves and the way they disappear under your pencil skirt. Maybe it’s how your jacket notches in at your waist, accentuating your ample hips. Or perhaps it’s the fact that even with the conservative uniform and minimal to-do with your hair and make-up (as per regulations, of course), you still are absolutely gorgeous.

Or I’m just horny, Elvis thinks sardonically, shifting in his seat.

The movement catches your eye, and he watches curiously as you do a bit of a double take, eyes widening slightly in recognition before your head whips straight ahead.

He smirks to himself at that. It never gets old, the light that goes on in women’s eyes when they take him in in person. And he certainly isn’t getting much of it lately, being effectively shackled here in Germany, clad in his drab green Army fatigues.

Well, that’s not entirely true, he thinks as he pictures the fans that gather at all hours outside the house he’s renting while he’s here, about the girls he invites in. But it’s not quite the same, not the same at all, because his fame is tenuous and teetering here. Part of him is certain that they’ve all forgotten about him at home, despite the Colonel’s reports to the contrary, despite the new movie contracts and albums he is set to record as soon as he returns. However, the sliver of fear about his fate has burrowed deep these past two years and poisons him slowly, each day he is gone.

But now he’s counting days and weeks instead of months and years, and he can nearly taste being home. His fear and the antsy feeling that permeates him is overcome by anxious excitement now, so he’s feeling better than he has in a long time.

And here he is, getting his Sergeant stripes, and that fills him with a different sort of pride altogether.

So, perhaps it is all these factors combined that have him wanting to jump across the aisle, pull you into his arms, and kiss you silly.

He’s never seen you before and doesn’t know your name until they call you up to present you with your earned rank. Feeling a bit lecherous, he admires the view of your ass as you walk to the front and the heaving of your breast as they pin your stripes. Your pretty eyes catch his unabashedly heated gaze and pink floods your cheeks as he locks you in.

Elvis knows what he’s doing. While much of it is a natural sort of gift, he’s also honed his seductive abilities quite a bit in the last four years and gets paid a lot of money because of it. He’s also well aware that he looks good, filled out in a manly way but slimmed down in all the right areas, and right now, he’s not above using his looks to get your attention. And he so does want your attention, as much as he knows by virtue of your uniform and rank, you are completely off limits. He’s not stupid—he’s too close to the end for a court martial. Though he may not be able to fuck you the way he wants, it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little bit of fun.

Crossing his arms, he brings one hand to his mouth, letting his thumb catch on his full bottom lip and his mouth fall open slightly. Then he gazes at you with a pointed but dreamy stare, his eyes blinking slowly.

He watches you gulp and fidget at front of the room, all of which could be explained away by nerves of being put on the spot, but he knows he’s hit jackpot because there’s a little fire stoked in those lovely eyes now.

Tilting his head and raising a brow, he makes a private show of looking you up and down as you walk tenuously back to your seat. Giving him a glare of admonishment, you very purposefully do not look at him once you are seated again, but your hands wring in your lap, your leg crossing over towards him.

He’s flustered you. Warmth rolls over him, pooling in his pelvis, and through the rest of the ceremony, he tries not to think of bending you over your chair, yanking up your skirt, and sinking deep into your silky heat.

His cock twitches at the thought.

Later, fate intervenes on his behalf when he realizes you’ve been seated with him at the dinner banquet following the ceremony. He shakes your hand, introducing himself, letting his fingers squeeze and his thumb graze your palm a little too intimately. The gamut of emotions that flashes over your face before you bring down a stoic smile makes him chuckle.

He guides you to sit next to him, and while you hesitate at first, he knows he’s already won because of the way your eyes widen at the suggestion.

Now that you are close, his body goes into overdrive, and he is drunk on the sweetness of your perfume and the smoothness of your skin. He realizes he’s likely being too obvious in his flirtations but can’t bring himself to reign it in. The other men and women at the table have either consciously or subconsciously deferred to him and his charms, leaving no one to compete for your attention. He lays it on thick, wanting to eat you right up.

Elvis is hyperaware of every time you glance his direction, which is happening more often as he pulls you deeper into conversation, your cool exterior thawing bit by bit. But the way your eyes dilate and how you lick your lips when he brings the bottle of cola in front of him to his mouth has a zing of arousal shooting down his spine and straight into his cock.

Oh.

Nothing if not responsive, Elvis tongues the lip of the bottle before taking a slow drag of the sweet, fizzy soda. Your eyes are fixated now on his mouth, on the bottle, and he watches you catch your lower lip in your teeth as you stare.

Heat courses through him as he pulls the bottle away, tongue rolling over his bottom lip to catch the lingering drops of sugar caught there. You swallow visibly, and he doesn’t stop his teasing, unable to keep his lip from quirking into a delighted smirk at your attentions. Your eyes fly back up to his, as if just realizing you’ve been caught, and you flush a charming shade of red before clearing your throat and looking away quickly.

But every time he raises the bottle to his lips, your eyes catch like a moth to a flame. This time they follow his hand down as he sets the bottle on the table. Condensation gathers droplets on the cool glass and he relishes the smooth, wet feeling as he strokes the bottle with his thumb.

You fidget in your seat. It takes him a second to understand why, but once he does, he feels his cock chub up, caught mercilessly in his briefs and dress pants. The little, mischievous devil in him takes great pleasure watching you watch him make a show of gripping the bottle in his whole hand, slowly thumbing over the opening at the top again and again.

You choke a little and reach for your water, taking a deep drag and blinking rapidly, as if trying to come out of the spell he seems to have you under. You attempt to throw yourself into the conversation at the table, ignoring him with all your might, your body tense in your seat.

A challenge, he thinks, smiling.

Slowly, Elvis presses his knee into the side of your thigh, loving the way you nearly jump out of your seat in surprise at the contact. It’s like a bolt of electricity between you, and he starts to strain against his underwear.

Now that he has your attention, he places his hand back around the cola bottle, lewdly gripping it and slowly twisting his hand down and back up the glass. It’s truly not that far off from his actual size, so the motion feels almost too familiar, too easy. Your mouth pops open at the suggestive gesture and it takes everything in him to not lap his tongue into that delicate little mouth of yours. He matches his rhythm, stroking his knee against your leg, which also happens to provide some delicious friction in his pants. He feels you tense, squeezing your thighs together, and he cannot help but think of your little pink snatch likely staining your panties with slick right at this very moment.

Elvis almost groans aloud at that, catching it in his throat at the last second, but you seem to hear it and your eyes fly to his. Your pupils are blown out and cheeks are hot, and he can almost smell the arousal on you. Goddamn it, he wants to make you come, right here at the table, just for him, in front of everyone, who, wrapped up in their own conversations seem none the wiser at the seduction that is happening before them.

He’s hardly touching you but feels a surge of power when you fidget again, caught like willing prey in his stare. He can’t touch you more than he already is because that would get him in trouble, but if he can’t lay you across this table and fuck you senseless, he’s going to do it the only way he can.

His ministrations on the bottle are serving to arouse him just as much as you, each stroke making his cock twitch and strain and stiffen. Your eyes dart from his to the bottle, back and forth, your breath shallow and rapid. His eyes are heavy on you, unyielding, and look upon you as though you were under him, as though he were trapped and undulating in the heat of what he just knows is your perfect, untouched cunt.

You look back at him as though you know exactly what he’s thinking, as though your tight little hole is snug around him, sweet as honey, treating him right. Your hands clutch at your silverware, your napkin, anything you can get your hands on that isn’t him, and he knows you are well on your way to where he wants you because he can feel how your legs move back and forth, creating the friction you so desperately need between them.

He wonders if he can get away with touching you under the tablecloth, with sticking his hand into those wet panties of yours to play with your swollen and sensitive nub, but your skirt is too long and tight, and your jacket hides the waistband. No, he’s gonna have to be satisfied with eye-fucking you and jerking off this cola bottle.

Your chest starts to vibrate with tension as you try desperately to hold back the short little gasps emanating from your lips and he knows then that you are set to explode. You brace your elbows on the table, hiding the lower part of your face with your napkin, as if wiping your mouth, and he feels your hips buck. You do a helluva job not moaning and rolling your eyes back as you come for him, but he sees you drift somewhere else for a moment in your ecstasy, your eyes going blank as you pant as measured as you can into your napkin-shield.

Watching you unravel so gracefully and so untouched has his own orgasm sneaking up on him. The fact that he made you come just by looking at you but also at the element of public indecency involved has him clutching the cola bottle so hard he might break it. He wants to palm his dick with his other hand, but he knows he can’t be subtle about it and kind of likes the fact you’re making him come untouched, too.

Elvis manages to hold on until you come down from your high enough to look at him with dreamy, satiated eyes and that finally sends him over the edge. His cock pulses heavy and hard, springing against the confines of his slacks, his eyes drifting closed and lips parting as he shivers through his orgasm as quietly as he can. Holy fucking hell.

Your shy, knowing smile is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, and he can’t help but smile right back at you in kind. Your rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes make him feel giddy. His face feels red hot and he can’t help but bring the cold cola bottle to his face to cool it off. You choke back a laugh.

“You alright there, Sergeant Presley?” another soldier questions him.

“Ohhhh, I’m fine,” he drawls, amused, “Just feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here is all, in this getup.”

For once, he’s glad of his regulation briefs, as they kept him from shooting his load straight down his pant leg, but he doesn’t have to look down to know by the sheer force and amount of his release that he’s soaking through the front of his pants. His only consolation is that he knows you must be soaked through your panties, too.

If he can get his jacket on, he’ll be okay because it’s long and will cover the mess, but how he’s going to do so without the entire hall seeing he just jizzed his pants, he’s not so sure. It might not be a problem for the average Joe, but people can’t help but watch his every move, whether he wants them to or not. He realizes in his haze of horniness that maybe he didn’t really think this through.

You seem to realize his predicament, however, pretty eyes widening after looking down in his lap. You snap your head up quickly and he can sense your wheels turning. He starts to panic a little when you don’t let him in on the plan, though, as you start telling some story that he can’t seem to pay attention to with the sticky, rapidly cooling mess in his underwear.

Before he knows what’s happening, you are sweeping your arm to the side in a dramatic retelling, knocking the half-full bottle of cola over, directly into his lap.

He yelps in surprise as the dark cola soaks into his slacks, right over the other stain that had begun to set.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Sergeant Presley!” you cry apologetically, quite convincingly, and in other circumstances, he might try to get you into the movies with your level of commitment as you place your napkin into his lap.

He chuckles, “Oh, it’s fine, darlin’, it’s just a little soda. After all, I was going on about how warm I was gettin’, so you cooled me right off.” He gives you a wink at his obvious double entendre, and you purse your lips to hold back a laugh.

“Well, I’m awfully embarrassed,” you say quietly, fully leaning into the role. “Please send me your dry cleaning bill. It’s the least I can do.” Pulling a little pad out of your clutch, you scribble something down on the paper, tear it off, fold it, and hand it to him.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s no big thing,” he says, but takes the paper anyway, sensing that you have written something other than your dry cleaner’s information on it. He motions for your pen and paper. “Can I?”

You nod and hand them over. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he scrawls a note:

If you ever find yourself in Memphis someday, honey, come to Graceland for a visit. Ask for ‘Sarge.’ I’d love to have ya.

Love, Sergeant Elvis Presley

He finishes by adding one of the numbers at Graceland and hands the pad back to her. Wishful thinking, but maybe someday, when it’s not a court-martialed offense, he’ll be able to show you the good time you deserve.

He excuses himself, then, sloshing in his soggy, ruined pants, waiting until he gets to the car to read your note.

Sergeant Presley,

One must watch out for those pesky cola bottles…Try vinegar and cold water for that stain…wouldn’t want it to set!  

Corporal Y/N  Y/L/N

He laughs heartily as the car pulls away.

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[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Since you u did a autobots responses to death. Can you do the deceptions responses to death telling them he’s come for their life because they’ve gone and pissed him off or have done something that is insulting to his work? “So why don’t I do us both a favor and take your spark now.”

TFP verse

-Megatron snarls and immediately takes a combat stance. He's not afraid of Death and he's not going to just lie down and accept his fate. "You want my spark? You're going to have to come at me with everything you got because I am not going to go down without a fight."

-Immediately, Starscream transforms and runs away. He does not believe for even one second that he could beat Death, at least not in a fair fight. Until he can figure out a way to get himself into Death's good graces again he's going to keep on running away, never staying in one spot for long in fear of being found.

-Similarly to Megatron, Soundwave prepares to fight. However, he does not think that he's going to win. He's prepared to die but he refuses to just give up. That goes against everything it means to be a decepticon. No, if he's going to die then it will be while fighting, resisting until the very end.

-At first, Knockout tries to talk his way out of the situation. He's totally freaked out but he tries to appear calm, tries to smooth talk Death into forgiving him for whatever he's done wrong. When that does not appear to work then he'll go for plan 2; run away. Deep inside, he knows he can't run forever, but he's too scared to accept death just yet.

-Breakdown asks why Death wants his spark. The answer don't matter though because even if there's a legitimate reason, he will fight for his life. Even in the face of impossible odds, Breakdown stands tall and if he's going to die then by Primus, he's going to go out like a legend.

-Like Breakdown, Shockwave asks Death why they want his spark but whereas Breakdown is genuinely curious, Shockwave is doing it to buy time. In the short time it takes Death to answer, he's already thought of a plan on how to prolong his existence. He will engage in a brief altercation with Death, not with the goal of winning but to find the best way to escape. Once he's managed to run away, he's going to pour all his research into how to defeat Death. Dying is not an option for him.

-For Dreadwing, there's two ways this will go. Either he will fight, even though he knows he's going to lose, simply because of his pride as a warrior, or he's going to accept his fate. If Death has ordained it, has come to the decision, then his fate is already sealed. There is no escaping Death, he knows this. If he accepts it, then Dreadwing will offer up his own weapon do Death, kneel down, close his optics and face his end with dignity.

-Airachnid runs away. She's a cold blooded killer but she knows when she's beat. And Death? She knows she stands no chance there. But she's going to cling to life, dig her claws into it and hold on until the very end. So she'll run. And run. She will never accept her own demise and will do whatever it takes to stay alive for even just a day more.

[raineandsky]

#16

The hero has never had too many problems concealing their identity. The agency took great care to arrange their schedule around the people in their life – how they did that they’ll never know, but it’s managed to keep questions and suspicion to a minimum. The lack of worry about anyone finding out about them means more room to think about their job.

Their hero job, at least. The agency picked them up when they were five months deep into a job at the local grocery store, and to keep up appearances they’d suggested the hero keep their old job and take up the hero work part time. It’s fine for the most part, until the agency thinks it a good idea to let them go to work at the shop all day, only to do several more hours with the other heroes at the end of that, well into the evening.

Today is one of those days. The agency finally lets them out at two in the morning, and they do the maths on their hands as they say goodbye to the receptionist by the main doors. They started at the store at ten this morning, a thoughtful half hour break thrown in, and they had an hour after leaving before they had to come here. Their day has been going for almost sixteen straight hours.

They can feel every single hour weighing down on them as they throw their car door open, getting in with an exhausted sigh. They couldn’t even be bothered to take their outfit off at the end of the day, and they scowl in annoyance as the tightness somehow makes sitting even more uncomfortable than their usual fighting.

The roads are near silent at this time, and their street appearing on the horizon is a much needed relief. The hero lets themself into the house as quietly as possible – they assume their roommate is probably asleep by now, and they’d feel bad waking them. They’ve had a lot of early starts recently, and their bedtime has been slinking earlier and earlier into the evening.

They drop their bag on the floor as quietly as they can manage, fully prepared to just sleep the day off and worry about how bad they smell in the morning. They can’t ignore the uncomfortable grumble of their stomach though, so they take a detour to the kitchen to grab a snack before they pass out for the night.

The kitchen light is already on, the extractor humming quietly. The hero frowns as they reach the threshold, any plans they had to eat eradicated at the sight before them.

A pan is sitting on the stove, steam billowing out the top as the water inside bubbles ferociously. Several cupboard doors are hanging open, abandoned, various contents of such sitting haphazardly on the counter below them. In the middle of it all is their nemesis, the one they’ve been hunting down in vain for days, the villain, happily rooting through their bags of food and making themself quite at home. 

As if to add insult to injury, the hero’s roommate’s dog – who the hero themself has spent hours of their life desperately trying to make like them to no avail – is cuddled up quite comfortably to the villain, sitting at their feet with his tail thumping rhythmically against the tiled floor.

The sight is so odd that common sense is not the first thing that comes to mind. “What’re you doing in my house?” the hero demands, and it’s only once they’ve said it that they realise it’s probably not good to let on that this is their most vulnerable place. Especially not when they’re living with an innocent citizen.

The villain jumps at their voice, whirling to meet them with equal amounts of confusion and surprise. “Wh–” is all that comes out momentarily. “Your house? Get the hell out of my house!”

The hero laughs humorlessly as they stalk further into the room. “I think you may be a little lost, [Villain]. You had better get out before I make you leave in pieces.”

“I’m not leaving my house for you.” The villain jabs their knife at them, the sharp side lined with multicoloured shreds of vegetables. “Come back with a goddamn warrant.”

The hero pauses at the phrase, wide-eyed. On the few occasions they’ve caught their roommate in the bathroom, they always jokingly demand the same thing when they knock on the door – “come back with a warrant!”

“[Roommate]...?” the hero asks uncertainly, and the villain’s expression morphs into disconcertion at the name.

“You don’t know me,” they spit defensively. “Where’d you get that name from?”

“You, dumbass.” The hero tsks shortly, the situation too bizarre to truly register as dangerous. “You told me. We live together, don’t we?”

“You…” The villain’s face scrunches up ever-so-slightly, the face the hero’s roommate always makes when they have to think about something. “I’ve been rooming with you? You’re a hero!”

“I could say the same thing!” the hero exclaims.

“Has… has it been like this the entire time?”

“I got picked up by the agency, like, three months ago.”

The villain’s brow dips into a frown, their gaze turning back to their food boiling in the pan. “I just wanted a snack before I headed out. I didn’t expect this.”

“And I just wanted a snack before I went to bed,” the hero adds. “If we promise not to kill each other before tomorrow, we can figure this out in the morning.”

They get a short nod in response. “I don’t have time to kill you anyway. I have to go in five and I’ll be going to bed as soon as I get back.”

“We have similar schedules,” the hero comments, and they butt past their nemesis to haul the fridge door open. “Enjoy committing felonies that I’ll have to fix in the morning.”

“Awh, I feel so bad,” is the sarcastic response they get as the villain pours the contents of the pan into a tupperware. Once the lid is on they throw the kitchen window open, pulling themself onto the windowsill with the dexterity of someone who hasn’t exercised since school. “Enjoy being boring and following the law.”

“Why’re you going out the window? We have a perfectly working front door.” The hero manages to fish out some leftovers, slamming the fridge with a tired sigh. 

“I avoid following legal laws and general laws of life,” they offer with a nonchalant shrug and a typical criminal grin. “I don’t use doors. See you tomorrow, roomie.”

The villain disappears out of the window, leaving the hero on the tail end of a sixteen hour day, holding a bowl of cold leftovers, in the company of a dog that doesn’t like them, with the newfound knowledge that they’re living with one of the city’s biggest criminals.

Great.

[necroromantics]

🌲 — TicciWork Headcanons

partners in crime

- a rough love. they’ve been through cycle after cycle of love and hate, and given the ways they grew up, their relationship was toxic in the beginning. its all they knew, the way they saw their parents interact, the childhood image of what “loving someone” wasn’t anything stable.

- their fights were like war. screaming matches, hits to the ego, things being broken, storming out. a perfect mirror of their past.

- but theyre stubborn, and nobody else could stomach them like they could. and so again, and again, they’d come back to each other

- slowly, they would grow beyond what their parents were. they would push past those cycles. and they’d realize it was them against the world. and that they didn’t want to hurt each other

- clockwork would help toby manage his emotions, and toby would help bring clockwork out of her shell. the two gritted their teeth and refused to continue losing each other, because they both silently feared one day there would be no reuniting

- its the type of relationship where they’d help each other grow, and hold each other accountable. they don’t just have fun together, they care for each other, they burn for each other.

- both of them have similar pasts, and once they reach that point of opening up, their connection only deepens from such a painful understanding of what it was like growing up. a “im sorry i wasnt there for you as a kid, i wouldve iced the bruises on your back” type of understanding

- it takes them a very long time to realize their feelings for each other. they wouldn’t realize why they care so much, or why they feel so sappy and soft. or why they love to hold hands so much

- an unspoken love between two best friends who understand its till death do them part

- they have personal laws and secret history that no outsider could understand. their relationship is incomprehensible to anyone but them. like two awkward youth who were never loved trying to make it up as they go

- but everyone could see it. everyone but them.

- how much clockwork laughed and fought back a smile at tobys dumb jokes, how she scolded him for being a reckless idiot, because everyone but her knew she was worried about him

- and how toby followed her around like a dog, how he listened to no one but her, it was insufferable but god it was endearing to see how that boy was in love

- in a horrible, cruel, terrible world, love prevails. and it shows in the sparks between the two when they shove each other to the ground, or when their fingers tenderly interlock, or when they linger in each others presence a bit too long. their love prevails, against all odds.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

A Kindness

CW: Runaway whumpee, referenced hunger/malnourishment

Timeline: After Jameson escaped from Robert but before he found a safehouse

For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 3: A Long Cold Night

-

It’s fucking freezing out here. Jameson thought California wasn’t supposed to get cold like this, but just his goddamn luck, it definitely does. 

He’s curled up against the heavy concrete beneath the overpass, using it to block the worst of the wind. There are a scattering of tents around him, others who have figured out some slim form of shelter. There’s a couple fires going, too, but Jameson doesn’t want anything to do with the people circled around them, sharing stories and in-jokes. They’ve been out here for long enough to know each other. To trust each other, more or less.

Like everywhere else he goes, Jameson doesn’t fit.

He sure as fuck doesn't trust.

When he finds other runaway pets, they think he’s frightening. The twisted scar near his mouth catches the firelight too well. He's too brash, too angry, someone who might be violent.

When he tries to stick around non-pets, they read him like a book and treat him like shit on the bottom of their shoes. Or try to sneak up on him when he sleeps and get a hand down his pants, assuming that he won’t fight back, because everyone knows Box Boys will lie back and take it, right?

Well, Jameson isn’t like other pets.

He isn't just any Box Boy.

Nanda taught him how to survive, no matter what it cost. Nanda taught him-

Goddamn fucking dead Nanda.

If he wasn't so fucking dead none of this would be happening.

Jameson closes his eyes against a hot rush of tears he refuses to allow out, not now. Not when he knows he's being watched, considered for whether he might have a few dollars that could be stolen or if he could be held down and made to accept their touch. He won't be.

The ones who try learn that real fast not to try again, once they have busted lips and black eyes and, in one case, a set of balls so bruised and twisted that the asshole who tried to make Jameson kneel for him is definitely sterile now.

Cold nights make his legs ache, the final loving legacy of the braces he’d worn for too long that never let him stand all the way up. Two goddamn assholes had put those on him, and he'll never be free of the pain. Jameson ignores it, grinds his teeth until his jaw hurts worse than his legs ever could. He can ignore it just fine until the weather gets cold.

Mostly.

There’s a scraping off to his left, footsteps crunching on gravel and shards of broken glass. Jameson’s knife is in his hand as easily as he breathes and he’s already got it brandished when he turns, putting a sneer on his face, leaning into the ugliness of the scar that twists one side of his mouth more than the other. “Listen, motherfucker, try to stick your dick anywhere near me and I’ll fucking cut it off-... shit.”

His voice dies as he takes her in.

She’s small, almost dainty looking. He reads her for what she is in a heartbeat, the grace in every movement carefully trained until it was no longer a conscious choice, the soft skin that had spent a long time moisturized and cared for at odds with the hackjob and clumsy box-dye red she’d done to her hair to try and make herself less recognizable. She’s drowning in a man’s overcoat at least four sizes too big and so long it’s dragging the ground, heavy boots that she has to be wearing at least three pairs of socks to fit into. She’s wearing leather driving gloves too big for her hands. 

Her eyes are wide and frightened.

But she's not frightened of him.

She reads him right back, and they recognize each other before a single real word is said. She manages a slight, trembling smile. Jameson feels the snarl fade off his own face. They might have trained together, not that he remembers much of training.

“... can I sit with you tonight?” She asks, voice low, glancing nervously over her shoulder and then back to him. “Please? You’re, you were one too, right?”

Jameson’s jaw works.

He should tell her to fuck off, this is his spot, leave him alone. That he’s not nice, he’s no one anyone can trust. He’s been owned three times and twice they made him live on his hands and knees, once he starved, once he watched people die over and over again until he sees their faces every time he sleeps. 

He didn't deserve to be the one who lived after it all, but he's the one who would do anything not to die, so here they are. Here they fucking are.

Instead of rejecting her need for even one small kindness, he replies instead, "Yeah, whatever. Go ahead. Don't try to talk to me about it, though."

He closes the knife, letting it slide back into his pocket as she makes her way to him, dropping down to sit beside him, curling her knees to her chest and pulling a hood up over her head. Jameson feels… settled, at the gentle unassuming touch, her weight barely noticeable when she leans slowly until her head rests on his shoulder. She smells kind of gross, but he probably does, too. Who knows when either of them last showered?

“Sorry,” She whispers as she slides her gloved hand into his, twining their fingers together. 

“Uh-... what-... what the fuck are you doing-”

“There’s a guy who won’t stop following me around.” She keeps her voice low, turning and lifting her chin so she’s almost kissing Jameson’s cheek right over his scar as she speaks. “I told him you were my boyfriend. Can you-... just pretend to be, for a while? We’re good at pretending we’re in relationships, you can do it, right? I knew when I saw you that you’d been like me.”

Jameson fights the twist of pain.

Pretending we’re in relationships.

That’s as close as he’s ever going to get, and even that was ripped away from him. Jameson never even got to tell him-

He shuts that thought down.

He doesn’t think about Nanda anymore. He doesn’t think about anyone unless it’s to hate them - that’s easier. 

All he does is nod, giving a smile - fake but to anyone else it looks warmly genuine. He can make any expression an owner wants on command, still - the scars and bald patches where hair used to be, rubbed away by the muzzle day after day, make it a little scarier. But it never looks like a lie. 

“I got you,” He murmurs back, and kisses her forehead like they’ve known each other for forever. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a man lurking, skulking around, one eye on the girl all the time, watching Jameson slide an arm around her waist with barely concealed jealousy. Jameson shoots him a serene smile, pulling the girl tightly against him. 

It’s going to be a long, cold night, and he’s not going to sleep at all.

The girl dozes off almost immediately, finally feeling safe enough to sleep, and that… that helps. A little bit. 

It's a kindness.

-

@finder-of-rings  @endless-whump  @arlin-always-writing  @newandfiguringitout  @doveotions  @pretty-face-breaker  @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow  @boxboysandotherwhump  @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes  @yet-another-heathen @whumptywhumpdump  @whumpiary  @orchidscript  @outofangband  @eatyourdamnpears  @hackles-up  @grizzlie70  @mylifeisonthebookshelf  @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[agendabymooner]

odds || pg10 fic

“I’m never giving up against all odds.”

pierre gasly x ofc (88rising!singer!ofc)

EXTENSION TO NEWSFLASH (SEQUEL OF) AND LOWKEY (PREQUEL OF)

Summary: Her songs told a story about how her courtship with Pierre Gasly went and ended in a happy note. OR their timing wasn't always right— that was what she thought as she continued to think that their situationship’s downfall would happen sooner or later. 

Content warning: Based on Niki’s EP, wanna take this downtown. No specific date is used for the release of her music. Use of explicit language, situationship scenarios, miscommunication, OFC being set up, Pierre being a dry texter, only uses a partner’s name (nothing too personal- just a passing comment), a bit angst but has a happy ending (?), indented texts are lyrics

Note: I’m not sure if my taglist would like to read this but I’m adding them into the list just in case :)) enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

This has got to be a joke. The universe fuckin’ hates my guts.  Remindin’ me ‘U’ and ‘I’ don’t spell ‘us.’

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Heeeey!!! My brain is soooo fried today and Brian decided to fuck up my computer. Now I’m just here doing nothing but hope that my dear tech works in the next hour. Sent at 10:21 PM

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): How r u??? I hope you’re not training too hard and you’re hydrating :) Sent at 10:25 PM

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Good morning, Ens. Have 2 train sadly ttyl ;) Sent at 8:31 AM

Well wasn’t that fucking sad, Ensley huffed out quietly to herself as she wished to throw her phone against the wall. They’ve been in what… two dates?

Well, two in-person dates and three unofficial FaceTime dates with shitty takeouts in front of them. Not that she counted; she could have sworn she did not like him that much. 

She wasn’t sure who she was lying to more, though. But just as she continued to deny that she hadn’t looked at her phone every thirty seconds, she was feeling more pathetic. 

What was it about men and why did she continue to give them all a chance? All they do was fuck it up and Ensley was going insane at the thought that the cycle of being with the shittiest men ever wasn’t broken. 

“All I know is suddenly without you, the bed feels too big… That’s good. Good job Henny.”

“Trying to find where your head is but I’m losing myself in the process— no wait, tryna,” she muttered to herself before scratching out the first word of her chorus. 

She thought that songwriting was a way to distract herself from the Pierre fiasco. Everyone said so, as well. They thought that if she kept her head straight she’d be able to think of inspiration and clearly they were right. 

Her friends, Brian and Joji, were laughing at the fact that the said inspiration was the same person they tried to distract her from. 

Pierre Gasly. The man who continued to travel as the Formula One season went on while Ensley remained in Los Angeles. Pierre was the man that the Indonesian woman had been thinking about day after day, his charming personality filling that empty space in her head after he asked if she’d be more than willing to take their relationship to the next level. 

He did warn her about his busy schedule, which Ensley was grateful for. What he hadn’t told her, though, was that he’d eventually drive her insane because of the lack of texts he’d send as time went on— all thanks to his schedule. 

The first month of their situationship was great. He managed to call her and asked if she had supper or whatever meal it was she had to eat in her time zone. He’d often eat his food just as she’d munch on whatever she had that day— sharing conversations while they took a break from whatever the fuck they were doing. 

Hell, Ensley also managed to take the international railways to Rome to meet with him. They were getting along so well that she cuddled with him in his bed twice. 

But in the second month? Fuck, she wasn’t sure anymore. Perhaps it was because it’s the last month of the racing season and everybody’s scrambling to make their way up to the World Driver’s Championship rankings— that included the Frenchman. 

She could understand how busy it is for Pierre and she did what she could to not hover around him. But she was missing him terribly— him and his sex jokes and his never ending storytelling. What could she do? Nothing. She didn’t have any form of label but a situationship with him. 

“You come see me only when I ask first. When you kiss me— do you wish it were her?” 

“—That’s bullshit,” Brian exclaimed as he stood by the oven of Ensley’s open kitchen. Ensley glared at him, and her friend (Brian’s girlfriend) Vanntey smacked him lightly as a warning. Brian gave his girlfriend a questioning look and stated, “Boy Baguette didn’t even kiss her yet! Henny, don’t put that in if this song is about Pierre. That’s just full on delusional.”

“Who says it’s about him?” Vanntey asked with a scoff before telling Ensley, “Henny— your song, not Brian’s. Do whatever the hell you want.”

“At least someone’s sensible enough,” Ensley murmured before turning back to her notepad. Her Twitter notification, one that she intentionally left opened, made a noise as she glanced down at the “related tweet” notification. The post and the responses that came with it were… baffling to say the least.

We share different postal codes Maybe that’s why I never got the memo; She’s the real deal, and I was just a pretty demo.

ensleygaslysoz: y’all— pierre’s ex was at the paddock today 😭😭

peargaslit: nooooo~ YOU CANNOT SAY THAT!!! IM ROOTING FOR HIM AND HENNY!!! 

misskikagasly: ok but they were cute as hell b4 tho 🫠 no h8 to ensley but kika was the shit and i think they should get back together

Ensley’s shoulders slumped at the comments. God’s timing was always wrong, and she’s never hated anything more than the fact that she was actually besotted and in love with Pierre Gasly.

And chances are that he was just waffling about taking their relationship to another level. Men lied to Ensley endlessly, and if she didn’t know any better— she would’ve fallen harder than she did with him. 

And yet my world remains the whole of you to this day. Doesn’t matter what my location says. I’m always tryna get to you.

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Are you going to be in London sometime soon? I will be back in Milan and I’d like to stay in with you :) Text me when you get this Sent at 12:31 AM

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Can’t. Sorry— Still in the process of producing an EP :) looking forward to chatting soon Sent at 12:32 AM

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Likewise. Sent at 2:01 AM

When I'm there, you're not You're here, I'm caught up with my job And your clingy ex comes back a lot Then she leaves and you shoot your shot  But there's someone new I've got

The 88rising studio was where she stayed most of the time now. With the record label releasing an album with their artists, Ensley’s time was taken up by her work as she continued to produce four songs with them. 

That and her own EP took up her entire schedule, thus furthering her communication line with the Alpine driver. 

So much for a good situationship. 

“You wrote this song, Hen,” Isaac — one of the songwriters — told her with a shrug, “he lives in Milan, right? Instead of, I mean, Manhattan’s nice, why don’t you put, Milan is nice?” 

“They have good sunsets in NY,” she murmured quietly. “Look— let’s not talk about him. He’s got his business— this is mine.”

“Your EP so far shows that you’re writing about him,” Isaac replied. “By the way, you’ve got one more to write if you want to have four tracks.” 

“Eventually,” Ensley responded with a wave, her shoulders sagging before her sight moved from the screen of her laptop to the door that swung open. 

Brian walked in with a shit-eating grin, he was followed by Jackson Wang who carried, Ensley could’ve sworn, the biggest bouquet that could’ve ever existed. And just as Jackson walked towards her with a huge smile, her eyes scanned the set and the white card that contrasted with it. 

Dahlias and daisies. She never even mentioned it to anyone before.

Then she remembered a conversation she had about flower markets. She loved Los Angeles, but she couldn’t help but swoon over those Pinterest boards full of flower markets in Italy. 

She tried to romanticize her life in the UK before, but when she flew out to Milan once to see the beauty of it? Nothing could compare to Italy. She remembered telling Pierre that— how she’d kill to have the prettiest flowers in her flat that came straight from the market. 

“What kind of flowers do you like, then?” Pierre asked, amused at the sight of her swooning as she continued to squeal at the photo. 

“If I were to get my photos taken like this? Ugh,” Ensley grinned from ear to ear, “daisies? There’s just something about daisies that makes me think of I dunno… summer? I love the sun— I’m sure you can understand that. You live in Milan.”

“I do.”

“And what else? Huh… Dahlia!” Ensley exclaimed. “It’s just a nice name, no?” 

“I agree,” Pierre said thoughtfully before repeating the word, “dahlia, dahlia, dahlia… It’s a pretty name, indeed.” 

À la plus jolie fille, was intricately written on the envelope as her stomach fluttered at the name. He always called her that for whatever reason, and she eventually learned why. 

“Pretty girl,” Ensley translated the writing as she thanked Jackson, holding the bouquet before placing it down on the table. Her hand eventually grabbed onto the card and pulled out the letter. She didn’t care about her friends as they watched her expectantly. 

Her eyes remained on the letter. 

“My Collette,

This is not bought to make up for my absence, but to remind you that you are as cherished as the bright flowers in this bouquet. I hope you’re taking care of yourself, ma jolie fille.

While I cannot speak to you, I’ll continue to think about you.

XO,

Your Linguini.”

“Your— your Linguini?!” Jackson gasped from behind her, making her turn around as she watched Brian wheeze in laughter. 

The glare that she gave the two left Jackson to shut his mouth and Brian to continue his teasing. Regardless of what the singer just watched, Jackson shook himself out of his thoughts and asked, “Are you gonna text him?” 

But she already did. Long before Jackson could even comment. 

Her eyes scanned on the text message she sent Pierre, knowing full well that he wouldn’t text back a minute or so later.

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): They’re the prettiest. Thank you, Remy ❤️ Sent at 3:21 PM.

'Cause I know you've got somebody My friends say I could have anybody now that I'm somebody But I don't care if I'm nobody to you, oh

She sighed, not knowing if it was out of contention or sadness. All she was getting from him so far was mixed messages, with him having his ex in the paddock and sending the flowers.

He seemed to be happy to be around his ex, and she was still nobody to him but some person he wasn’t really in a relationship with. 

Maybe she should try to shift her attention away from him. Maybe she wouldn’t think a lot about him that way. 

And that was what she did. She stayed in London for a week or so after her other single with 88rising, La La Lost You, was released. She hung out with Will Lenney and his mates. 

She found herself sitting between Harry Lewis (or Wroetoshaw for those he didn’t know well) and Becky James. Harry was newly single and everyone tried to set him up with anyone with a pair of boobs; Ensley was sadly the newest target of their interest. 

But between the two of them, Ensley and Harry’s “not so friendly” interactions were nothing but banters. They wouldn’t hesitate to tell each other that they’d kiss each other on the mouth but they wouldn’t dare let their jokes go as far as touching each other with a ten-foot pole.

Regardless, everyone tried to root for them and getting too drunk meant trouble. Everyone saw what they wanted to see, immediately pulling their phones out to make a post or more about the two as Ensley and Harry cuddled up in the booth. 

“Why do you let the bloody idiot win, Ens?” Harry whined against the ear of the singer, ranting about Pierre as the Guernsey man continued, “I saw the tweets you know? You’re as much of a somebody as he is— don’t let the bloody cunt ruin your life.” 

“Too late, Harold,” Ensley slurred, sipping on her third sangria of the night. She and Harry didn’t even notice Becky nor their other friend Callum recording their interaction in the background, for the two of them were busy bitching to each other. “He’s ruined me- as in ruined me the moment I went to the bloody Grand Prix in Singapore. In a good way though!” 

“Ruin you in a good way,” Harry scoffed, his hand rubbing her back for comfort as he continued, “You’re writing about him. Your fuckin’ EP is all about him— it’s only reserved for those bastards who broke your heart obviously he’s one of them!” 

“No, they’re really not,” Ensley snorted, “my songs are not all about heartbreak nor friends with benefits I fall in love with.”

“Then name one song about loving then.” 

I know it's pathetic but I couldn't care less I'd wait until the stars uncross and say yes I'll always try to get you

Silence.

Harry’s drunken state continued to be a factor in his calling out as he raised a brow, “See? You’re a bad fucking liar, Ensley. You love him and you’re yearning— I can see it on your bloody face. So now you’re writing about how much he’s letting you down.”

She pouted in annoyance and slumped against his chest. Pierre didn’t even know how much she yearned for him. At the wrong time, while you’re at it. But she didn’t care. 

It’s been nearly a week since they last spoke, and their messages consist of nothing but dry responses and simple check-ins. Was it to ensure that the hope for a successful relationship remains intact or to actually make sure that they still had each other to talk to and that they hadn’t gone and talked to other people? Ensley wasn’t sure. 

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): What are we? Like… really?

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Whatever you would like us to be. And hello too?

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Hi. And really? We kept on saying that we’d be making plans but they never happened. It’s like I dunno. We’re avoiding each other because we’re always busy. 

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): I know I have to make the effort to come by sometimes, but then… How would you even the odds? I really don’t make an excuse when it comes to heading to London just to take the railways and see you.

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): I’m not even mad. I’m just saying that my time and heart are yours should they be available. Break my heart as much as you’d like but try to even out these odds— without girls trying to waste your time and mine.

The next day she had woken up with an infuriating headache. Thanks to the sangrias she had and Sambuca shots she was handed, she wasn’t able to get in touch with Pierre as early as she could.

She could, however, strangle Will and the rest of their group for posting those cutesy pictures of herself and Harry while the pair were chatting shit about whatever. Everyone now thought that they were seeing each other. 

“WroetoSoleil? Harry, I'm begging you to bag her already!!!” Said one tweet. 

“This is a sign that the friends-to-lovers trope is real.” 

“Pierre, where you at? Ensley’s being won over by W2S now!” 

“I still have some faith in Pierre and Ensley, tbh.” 

And to be honest, Ensley was still faithful to the two of them too. It’s only a matter of time before she begins to shift to someone else if neither of them makes a move. 

Well… she already made hers. It was his game to play now.

She tried to get on with her day after getting too drunk with her friend’s mates. Her flat in London was surprisingly less than dusty despite being untouched for a while. She supposed that’s what happened when she allowed Will and the other lots to occupy her place whilst she lived in LA. 

Then her attention diverted to her notes, writing down lyrics as she sipped on her homemade tea. 

She hadn’t even realized that she had Pierre muted — out of annoyance — until her phone began to go off. She peered down only to see an unknown number FaceTiming her. 

But it said Monaco at the bottom of the number. She could assume that…

“W- oi! Hello!” 

Never in my damn favour I don’t want you for later Never was much of a waiter.

She was right. It was Lando and a certain Monegasque. This number was Charles Leclerc’s and she was subjected to some bullshit that they were up to. 

“I’m ending the call—“

“Wait- no! Henny, don’t! We have to talk,” Charles started. They weren’t even close yet he called her Henny. Whatever he was trying to say, he was desperate to get it out before she could end her call. 

She sat her phone on the coffee table and crossed her arms, watching the two men scramble as they both sat down.

“We heard about what happened with you and Pierre,” Lando started. “Like how you two haven’t spoken properly and all that…?”

Ensley stared back at them, making the two sigh. They wouldn’t be able to get something out of her and so Charles went on, “He saw that picture and video of you and that guy… What's his name— Harry? Yeah, he saw it and he’s basically just… pouting and all that.”

“Long story short, there’s a lot of miscommunication going on between the two of you,” Lando cut off the Monegasque. “I know you’d never date Harry and we all know that Pierre’s not seeing his ex. The two of you right now are misunderstanding each other— just talk, please. Both of you are sulking and we’re all sick of you two being lovesick and shit.”

“It’s not that easy, you bastard,” Ensley swore, flipping off Lando as she grumbled, “Every time I’m available, he isn’t. Whenever I’m not, he’s coming around asking me to travel to Italy as if I have the money to travel with. I’m not as well off as you guys— and clearly, he isn’t making the same effort as me!” 

“How? He’s sent you a lot of flowers,” Charles pointed out. Ensley smothered her face in the cushion and screamed before she turned back to look at her screen with a grim smile.

“You’ve obviously no concept of making an effort without using a material, and it shows,” Ensley snarked.

“It’s just… he’s never asked me if he can stay over in my flat in London before,” she sighed, “it’s always me who has to adjust. I do appreciate it but at the same time… what about me? What if I can’t make it there and he’s still available? Will it stay like that? Just me hoping for some miracle that he’d come by? It’s just… I don’t know. It’s just tiring having to work hard only to end up with nada.” 

Lando and Charles shared a worried look. Clearly, they didn’t understand her side of the story until now. It wasn’t as if she was painted as a bad person— they genuinely didn’t know how she and Pierre spoke and how the duo treated each other. 

“I’m just so ready to say, ‘Yes, be my boyfriend like I’m begging’ but he’s not there all the time for me to answer it!” Ensley exclaimed in frustration, crossing her arms in annoyance as she slumped against the couch. 

“French boy—“

“I’m Monegasque—“

“Monaco boy, tell your best friend that he’s a piece of shit for making me feel like this—“ Ensley said. “God I just want to see him but at the same time I don’t—!”

“Why?”

“Because I know he wouldn’t even these odds no matter how much he wants to,” Ensley chuckled humourlessly. “I don’t even know if he wants to.”

But I’d wait on you to drink you in

Lando almost glanced in front of them, only nodding along at Ensley’s rants. Meanwhile, Charles stared at Pierre with a raised brow. 

The Frenchman sighed silently. 

He really didn’t want to mess this chance up, but it was too bad some things didn’t like to go in his favour.

Even the odds, indeed.

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Hello mon amour, are you still in London? Sent at 8:21 AM.

To Pesky Pierre: Yes… why? Sent at 8:22 AM.

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Are you off to somewhere else today? Sent at 8:22 AM.

To Pesky Pierre (Respectful): I— why are you being so cryptic? But no, I’m just staying in. 8:23 AM.

From Pesky Pierre (Respectful): Okay. See you in half an hour :)

When I'm there you should, I don't know, like, call up your boss Probably take the day off Maybe we could change the odds!

Ensley Zara Soleil was never the one for surprises. She loathed them so bad. 

But if surprises came in the form of an Alpine driver often then she was willing to welcome it with open arms. Pierre Gasly stood in front of her flat with a bouquet of dahlias and daisies in hand, his smile brightening her day immediately as Ensley smiled like a fool. 

She’s never felt this great over a man for a long time.

“I’m here to even the odds,” Pierre told her with a grin before it fell into a serious expression as he said, “I’m really sorry if I haven’t tried to do it before. I was the one who pursued you first and I should’ve tried harder—“

“Shh…”

“Pardon?” Pierre gave Ensley a puzzled look. 

And rather than telling to shush once more, Ensley gave him a wide grin and took the bouquet from his hand. The confused look remained on Pierre’s face for a brief moment as she inhaled the scent of the flowers. 

“You’re here now, P,” Ensley told him. “I was wondering what you meant by your text but I’ve been expecting you… for a good while.”

Pierre’s confusion was replaced by a wide smile, pushing his shoulders back as he said, “So… where can I start?” 

Ensley smiled and stepped aside, allowing him to enter her flat as she said, “Come in and have a cuppa. We’ve got a lot of things to catch-up on.” 

Don't care how long it takes,  My heart is yours to break I'm never giving up against all odds

fin.

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